


The Great Unexpected Journey of Bilbo Baggins

by Castor Gemini (The_Gemini_Twins)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe-to be announced, Gen, I'll fix these tags later, No Ring, Pollux stole my computer, Quest doesn't happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 61,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Gemini_Twins/pseuds/Castor%20Gemini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*IMPORTANT* This story is now being rewritten. If you would like to read it, you can follow this URL (http://archiveofourown.org/works/10991355/chapters/24480012) to "The Skin-Changer's Quest."</p><p>Dwarves are trouble, any sensible Hobbit knows that. They’re greedy and self-obsessed with no care for the well-being of others. It’s best jus to avoid them and that’s that. Of course, avoiding the very creatures that raid your homeland every spring isn’t exactly easy. Bilbo Baggins learns this the hard way when he finds himself dragged into quite an unexpected adventure, and not one he ever intended to take. After all, he’s a Hobbit. And where Hobbit’s come from nothing unexpected ever happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The News of Lobelia

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning to all! May the sun shine brightly on your day!
> 
> Oi! *Snatches computer* Not this time, Pollux! (Hee hee)
> 
> Hello all! This is Castor, the ridiculously shy author of the two Gemini Twins, here with a new story for you. Many of you may know me from my two other attempts which did not end well. I'll just say now that I have plans to rewrite From Beginning to End. But for now I'm focusing on this story to help the creative juices flow. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know if you have any questions!

**The News of Lobelia**

“It’s positively horrible!” Lobelia Sackville-Baggins’ voice rose over the din of the marketplace, drowning out all other conversations. Bilbo nearly groaned from where he stood at Holman Cotton’s stall. There went another perfectly good day. Anytime Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was around there was sure to be drama.

Turning away from the apples he’d just been examining, Bilbo spotted his cousin’s wife standing by a textiles stall, speaking in rather loud tones to her neighbor Gladys Bolger. When Lobelia caught Bilbo’s eye she shot him a glare and turned her back on him.

“You’ll never guess what happened,” she continued in a loud voice. Several Hobbits around her had fallen silent and were doing their best not to look as though they were eavesdropping.

“What happened?” Gladys asked, even though there was a pretty good chance she knew the answer already.

“Rorimac and Menegilda were accosted by Dwarves!”

Several of the nearby Hobbits, including Gladys, gasped. Gladys herself clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at Lobelia with wide eyes. Lobelia seemed to preen at the attention she garnered, even if she did have about thirty Hobbits eavesdropping.

“What happened?” Gladys repeated.

“Rorimac took Menegilda and Saradoc out on a picnic on the Brandywine the other day and Dwarves attacked them!”

This time several Hobbits in the vicinity gasped. They’d heard of Dwarves leading raiding parties on the West Farthing but never had they made it to the Brandywine before.

“Are they all right?” Gladys asked in her soft voice. Compared to Lobelia, Gladys was a very quiet Hobbit lass who preferred to keep to herself. Even now her face had gone slightly pink from all the attention she was getting. Bilbo couldn’t understand how she had ever become friends with someone like Lobelia.

“Oh, I think they’re fine,” Lobelia said, waving a hand dismissively. Now that she had shared the more shocking part of her news she seemed less interested in the rest of it. “Rorimac would never let those savages near his family. I’m sure he fought them off until they could flee back to Buckland.”

There was a general sigh of relief from the surrounding Hobbits and they turned back to the activities they’d abandoned. Bilbo returned to picking up the apples and examining them carefully. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Holman it was just that he knew some fruits bruised easily and he preferred not to buy them. Holman was a patient enough Hobbit to wait through Bilbo’s examinations before selling him his goods.

“It’s such a shame that we have savages attacking us day and night,” Lobelia continued in the same loud voice. A few Hobbits nodded, murmuring their ascent. “And it’s too bad that some of them refuse to leave.” At this she glared at Bilbo, who made a point of paying no attention to her.

Holman had a different reaction, his entire body went stiff and he eyed Bilbo nervously. Not all of them were as patient as Bilbo was, or as easily forgiving. One of those who weren’t was Hildifons Took, whose head had shot up from where he’d been bent over a board game with a friend. He was currently glaring at Lobelia’s back as Gladys spoke up.

“They can’t help what they are,” she said softly. “And besides, they look and act just like us. They’re no different than we are.”

Lobelia sniffed in distaste. “I suppose,” she said. “Some would say that. But I wouldn’t. Otho and I know they don’t belong here. They should never have come in the first place.”

Now Hildifons had stood up from his seat and was leaving the marketplace, his feet thumping heavily on the packed dirt. Hobbits moved out of his way quickly. None of them wanted to be in Hildifons’ vicinity when he became angry.

Bilbo turned back to Holman once more, prepared to pay for his fruit and leave. He was surprised when Holman held out not only the apples but a small bundle of mushrooms as well.

“I didn’t ask for those,” Bilbo began.

“From the missus,” Holman said, cutting him off.

Bilbo glanced around surreptitiously. He didn’t see Mrs. Cotton anywhere and she didn’t appear to be hiding behind anything. He turned back to Holman, prepared to refuse the offer.

Holman cut him off again, holding out the apples and mushrooms. “Something to brighten up your day,” he said. His eyes flicked to Lobelia before settling back on Bilbo. The “You’ll be needing it,” went unspoken.

A small smile spread across Bilbo’s face. “Thank you,” he said, taking the offered food. He handed over the payment for the apples before placing them in his basket. Spinning on his heel, he pointedly walked past Lobelia, refusing to look at her as he passed her. Lobelia didn’t say anything to him, she only glared at his back as he continued his way through the market.

 Bilbo’s thoughts repeatedly returned to the recent news on his way back to the Hill. Dwarves near the Brandywine River. How had they managed to sneak that far into the Shire? True, it was a little ways east of Hobbiton but it still wasn’t too far away. They could try and enter Hobbiton one day. Bilbo shook his head to clear his last thought. That was impossible. The raiding parties only consisted of half a dozen Dwarves. There was no way they would be able to raid Hobbiton in that small of a number.

But then again they actually entered Hobbiton when they came raiding. They certainly came close to the outlying farms on the edge of the small town but they didn’t come any closer than that. Just this last March, when the last of the snow had finally melted, Hobson Gamgee had been captured on his way from Tightfield to Hobbiton. The Dwarves held him for three days before they finally released him. Besides being a little a hungry and shaken up, he was relatively unharmed. When asked what it had been like he only grumbled about Dwarves kidnapping then ignoring him for three days.

Bilbo was so deep in thought about the Dwarves he didn’t notice where he was going until he bumped into somebody. He stumbled back, dropped his basket, and ended up tripping over said basket before landing on the ground. He sat for a solid minute, staring at nothing in particular while he tried to recover from his shock. Normally he did a better job of dodging Hobbits while walking.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mister Bilbo.”

Bilbo looked up at the soft voice and spotted May Gamgee, Hobson’s second youngest, standing before him. Her face was flushed crimson with what was most likely embarrassment for having run into Bilbo. May was a sweet girl of thirteen and had an affinity for gaining friends wherever she went. Her only problem with making new friends was that she was shy to the point she rarely ever spoke to anyone who wasn’t in her family. Her father’s recent kidnapping didn’t help her shyness at all. She had been near silent for even a week, mumbling incoherent answers to her family while being practically glued to her father’s side.

Bilbo smiled up at May from where he sat. “It’s quite all right,” he said. “You didn’t mean anything by it, I’m sure.” May mumbled what must have been an apology. Bilbo paused for a moment, watching as May’s blush grew, before his smile turned into a grin. “I should probably get up, shouldn’t I? I look pretty ridiculous sitting on the ground.”

May squeaked and hurried forward, nearly tripping over her own feet, and grabbed Bilbo’s hand in both her own. She leaned back and tried to pull him up but she only succeeded in accidently letting go of Bilbo’s hand and falling to the ground. She sat there, with her hands in her lap and tears beginning to spill down her cheeks.

Bilbo gave May a small smile, hoping she wouldn’t take it as teasing. Reaching out, he patted her arm gently. “You stay right there,” he said. May only stared at her hands, sniffling every once in a while, as Bilbo stood up from the ground, gathered their baskets, and then turned back to her, holding out his hand in a gentlemanlike manner. “If I may?”

May’s tears stopped almost immediately and she reached out a tentative hand to take his. Bilbo pulled her to her feet and helped set her skirts in order before he held out her small basket. She took it with shaky hands and hooked it over her arm. Bilbo held out a hand and offered her a smile. Returning it, May took his hand and joined him on his way back to the Hill.

“That’s quite the basket you have,” Bilbo said. May looked up at him, blinking. He smiled down at her. “It’s quite heavy,” he added.

May ducked her head and mumbled something then fell silent. Bilbo waited patiently for her to speak up again. Very few Hobbits knew that once May had mumbled her words if you gave her time she would repeat them in a louder, understandable voice. May finally looked up at him shyly and said, “I was taking it to Mister Hildifons.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Mister Hildifons? Good gracious. You want to talk to that old bull?” May giggled at his words and Bilbo grinned. She really was a sweet girl if someone took the time to get to know her. “Now then,” he swung their arms back forth a couple time, “why on earth would you want to talk to Hildifons Took?”

“Because I was hoping Mister Took would go to the Brandybucks for me.”

Bilbo nearly stopped in his tracks. “Why would he go to the Brandybucks?”

May looked at him as though he’d grown a second head. “Because of what happened to Mister Rorimac and Missus Menegilda.”

“Oh, you mean the Dwarves.”

May nodded silently, looking down at her feet as they walked. Bilbo pursed his lips. Hildifons would not be in the mood to deal with quiet Hobbitlings right now. He was liable to bellow like the nickname he’d been given, “the old bull.” Mulling it over, Bilbo sighed internally and said farewell to the peaceful afternoon he’d planned for himself.

“Why don’t I take it for you?” Bilbo asked. May’s head jerked up and whipped around. She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging open slightly. “I’d like to know how Rorimac is doing,” he said. “And I just happen to know the way to his house. Besides,” he leaned down to stage whisper to her, “I promise I won’t eat what’s in the basket.”

May clapped her free hand over her mouth as she burst into giggles. Bilbo grinned at her. She was such an easy girl to amuse. When she continued to giggle and gave him no answer he finally said, “Well?” May nodded, her shoulders jumping as she hiccupped.

“Brilliant!” Bilbo held out his hand and May handed him the basket. He held it up, sniffing loudly. “Such a shame,” he said, giving May a mournful look, “that I won’t get a single bite of this.”

May’s giggles started all over again. “You promised,” she managed to say through her laughter.

Bilbo shook his head. “That I did, May, that I did.” He stopped at the foot of the Hill and turned to May. “Why don’t you run on home, now? I’m sure your mother must be worried sick.”

May’s face flushed quickly. He guessed rightly then, she hadn’t told her mother where she was going. Bilbo made a shooing motion with his hand, “go on.”

Giving a quick curtsey to him, May whirled around and began trotting down the path. She quickly stopped, turned back around, and said a barely audible, “thank you, Mister Bilbo,” before she turned around and began heading down the path one more.

Bilbo watched May continue down the path before he turned around and headed up his own. He needed to get his own food stocked in the pantry before he headed to Rorimac’s. There was a good chance he might not make it home tonight. Especially with Dwarves running around.


	2. The Journey of Bilbo Baggins

**The Journey of Bilbo Baggins**

“What do you mean you’re not taking the East Road?” Mirabella looked shocked by her nephew’s announcement. Donnamira, her elder sister, hid her surprise slightly better but she still pursed her lips.

Bilbo took a deep breath and prepared for the ensuing argument. Perhaps he shouldn’t have stopped by Tuckborough for afternoon tea. His stomach may have started grumbling but he could have continued on and ignored it. Then he wouldn’t be sitting in his aunt’s kitchen about to be scolded for the dangers awaiting him.

“If I take the East Road,” Bilbo said in the most patient tone he could manage. “Then I’ll have to backtrack. I won’t make it to Buckland until after dark.”

Donnamira and Mirabella shared worried expressions before turning back to their nephew. “The road to Woodhall is practically deserted,” Mirabella said. “No one uses it anymore.”

Bilbo took another deep breath. “Which is why I plan to walk quickly. If I do that than I can make it there by dinnertime.” Donnamira pursed her lips more and Bilbo did his best to ignore his aunt’s expression. If he chose to talk to her now, he’d most likely get an earful about how foolish he was being.

“What about supper?” Mirabella asked. “You don’t know anyone in Woodhall.”

“I’ll be fine without it,” Bilbo said. “I’ve been without supper before.”

Mirabella frowned, thought for a moment, and then got up from the table. “You still have room in your basket.” It was not a question. When it came to feeding anyone of her nieces, nephews, or children, Mirabella never skimped out on them. Turning, she bustled into the kitchen and began to dig around in the pantry.

Bilbo kept his eyes trained on the doorway, doing his best to ignore Donnamira’s expression before he finally gave in and turned to her. “Would you like some tea with that lemon?”

Donnamira blinked at her nephew’s question before her face softened. Reaching out, she gently laid her hand on top of Bilbo’s. “I’m worried is all, Bilbo. Mirabella and I are Tooks and even we don’t dare travel to Woodhall. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Bilbo frowned at his aunt. “Rorimac and his family were just attacked by Dwarves. The least I can do is check in on him. Besides, Mother would never have abandoned her friends and she was a Took.”

Donnamira opened her mouth then closed it. Straightening up, she leaned back until she was resting against the back of the chair. She studied Bilbo with a curious expression.

Bilbo’s frown grew. “Is something wrong, Aunt Donna?”

Donnamira’s expression softened. “There’s something you don’t know about your mother,” she began.

Bilbo stared at Donnamira, slightly shocked by her words. What could he not know about his own mother? “What do you mean?”

“Belladonna was not,” Donnamira paused. “Well, she wasn’t exactly what you’d call a Took. And your father wasn’t exactly a Baggins.” Bilbo’s hand clenched into a fist on the table. What was his aunt saying? What did she mean by ‘Belladonna wasn’t a Took’?

Donnamira eyed her nephew warily before she continued. “Your father died before you were born. He was a great man, as I understand, very brave and loyal.” She stopped speaking for a moment and closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath she opened them once more and continued. “These Dwarves are here for a reason, Bilbo, and I fear you may discover why sooner than you ought to.”

Bilbo’s fist tightened before it suddenly relaxed. “You know why they’re here,” he breathed. “You know why the Dwarves are attacking us.” Donnamira nodded slowly. “Why?”

Donnamira didn’t have a chance to answer her nephew before Mirabella bustled back into the dining room. “Here we are.” She set the basket down on the table. “I made up some sandwiches and put them in next to the jam. I’m sure Donnamira wouldn’t mind if we sent you with a jar.” She gave a pointed look at her older sister.

Donnamira smiled up at her sister. “Not at all,” she said. She turned back to Bilbo and he half expected her to continue on with their conversation. Instead she gave him a brief, sad smile. “We best get you on the road before nightfall.”

Bilbo stared at his aunt. She had just told him that his parents weren’t Tooks or Baggins and that she knew why the Dwarves were here and now she wanted to send him on his way? Bilbo would have dove into his Tookish blood and demanded an answer from his aunt if she hadn’t leaned forward to take his hand.

“All answers require patience,” Donnamira said, squeezing his hand. “You’ll find them if you wait a little longer.” Bilbo squeezed back, smiling at his aunt.

Mirabella looked between Donnamira and Bilbo. “Did I happen to miss something?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Donnamira said. “I was just giving Bilbo some advice on his tomatoes.” Mirabella looked as though she didn’t believe her sister for one second. Donnamira turned back to Bilbo. “Shall we send you on your way?”

“Of course.” Bilbo rose from the table quickly, taking the proffered basket from Mirabella. It was slightly heavier than before and he cringed to think of carrying it all the way to Buckland. His arms were going to hurt.

Mirabella and Donnamira walked Bilbo to the door and saw him on his way. They each gave him a hug before he left. Mirabella held him close and wished him luck on his travels. Donnamira mimicked her sister, holding Bilbo close and murmuring in his ear, “I really do wish you would take the East Road. You never know what you’ll run into on the way.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bilbo whispered. “I promise.”

Donnamira pulled back and smiled at Bilbo. “I know you will,” She said, then framed Bilbo’s face with her hands, forcing him to look at her. “But stop by on your way back. I want to see you once again before you go back to that dreadful hill of yours.”

Bilbo grinned at his aunt. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

Donnamira released his head. “And I’ll keep you to that.” She tapped him on the nose. “After all, Bagginses don’t break their promises.” Bilbo’s grin widened. “Now go,” she pushed gently on his shoulder, “you want to reach Buckland before sunset.”

Turning around, Bilbo started down the road. He glanced back from time to time, watching as first both his aunts grew smaller before Mirabella turned and went back inside. Donnamira remained where she was, continuing to watch her nephew until he was long out of sight. She was worried for her nephew. He didn’t know what the Dwarves were looking for, and she certainly hoped he never found out. How else were they going to keep peace in the Shire? Turning around, she headed back inside the smial and did her best to not worry over his nephew. Bilbo was fifty, after all, he knew how to take care of himself.

Bilbo continued down the road with a small skip in his step and a basket bouncing against him every so often. He did his best to ignore his aunt’s words but he couldn’t help but wonder. Donnamira had said she knew why the Dwarves were here but hadn’t gotten the chance to tell him. She also hadn’t explained when she said his parents weren’t really Tooks or Bagginses. What on earth could she possibly mean? His thoughts continued in the same manner until he was halfway to Woodhall with not a single Hobbit or smial in sight.

“Dwarves,” Bilbo muttered under his breath. “Why did it have to be Dwarves?” The basket bounced against his side but offered no answers. He looked to the sky instead, as though the drifting clouds could answer him. “Why?” he repeated. When all he saw were white, shapeless clouds Bilbo lowered his eyes back to the rode and froze.

Standing in the middle of the road with his arms folded over his chest and feet spread apart was a Dwarf. He was tall – at least to a Hobbit, Bilbo wasn’t sure how tall Dwarves normally were – with bare, muscular arms and more tattoos than Bilbo had ever seen on a person.

Bilbo took an involuntary step back. A Dwarf. He’d just run into a Dwarf on the road. Mirabella was right, he should have taken the East Road. He probably wouldn’t have reached Buckland until dark, but at least he wouldn’t have run into a Dwarf.

The Dwarf stared, or rather glared, at Bilbo with sharp eyes. Bilbo remained where he was, clutching the basket with one hand and keeping a close eye on the Dwarf. He didn’t know what to expect from him. Was he just going to kidnap him like Hobson? Or would he maybe find him useful and try to make a fortune off of him?

Bilbo dashed away his last thought. He needed to stop thinking like that. Of course the Dwarf wouldn’t sell him. Every Hobbit the Dwarves had captured was released. What were the chances the Dwarf would decide to keep Bilbo? Wait. Why was he thinking like this? The Dwarf stood a good ten yards away from him. He still had a chance to escape.

Bilbo stepped back from the Dwarf and it narrowed its eyes at him, its gaze growing stronger. Bilbo swallowed quickly and stopped moving. It seemed like this Dwarf wanted something from him.

“Hello,” he called. The Dwarf made no sign of having heard him so he tried again. “Hello,” he said, this time slightly louder. Again, the Dwarf ignored him. Either he was very hard of hearing or just plain rude.

“I’m just on my way to a friend’s place,” Bilbo said, hoping the Dwarf could understand him. “I hope you don’t mind if I continue on my way.” The Dwarf made no move towards him or recognized his words. “I’ll just be going now.”

Turning around, Bilbo barely caught sight of a strangely hatted Dwarf before something not unlike a rough sack was dragged over his head and shoulders. Bilbo gave a shout and let the basket fall from his hands. It landed with a soft thump on the ground and belatedly, Bilbo realized he’d just spilled May’s gifts, Donnamira’s jam, and his supper.

Bilbo was jerked back to the present when something tightened around his upper arms. He recognized it quickly enough. Rope. He knew from experience with his Took cousins just exactly what being tied up felt like. He struggled against his bindings and felt the rope slacken slightly. So they hadn’t tied it yet. He still had a chance.

Jerking back, Bilbo struggled against both the rope and the Dwarf who had bagged him. Unexpectedly his back bumped in a solid mass behind him and he froze. Who was that behind him? The only other Dwarf he had seen before he was bagged by the hatted Dwarf was, his heart fell, the large tattooed Dwarf.

Arms wrapped around his torso and Bilbo squealed in surprise, struggling against the grip pinning him to the chest. He heard a grunt and a guttural word before the rope tightened around his arms once more. The Dwarf pulled it so tight that Bilbo had to wonder if he’d ever be able to breathe after this. The Dwarf appeared to be fumbling with the knot and the deep voice spoke again, grunting out what sounded like a command. The second Dwarf’s voice was lighter, as if he laughed more than the first did.

“P-Please,” Bilbo managed to gasp, still struggling. “Let me go!”

He went ignored and the fumbling continued until it suddenly stopped and he was released. Stumbling forward, Bilbo would have fallen to his knees if hands hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulder to steady him. Bilbo managed to mumble out some kind of a thank you before he remembered just what exactly was happening. At the same time he felt the hands slide down until they’d grabbed his wrists and dragged them together, wrapping rope tightly around them.

“No!” Bilbo jerked back and was grabbed, once again, by the first Dwarf. Despite his struggles, and twisting his wrists painfully in the Dwarf’s grip, the rope was tied tightly and he was released. He didn’t get a chance to say anything else before he found himself being lifted and dropped onto someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He hung there, dumbstruck and barely able to comprehend just what was happening. He was being kidnapped by Dwarves.

The Dwarf jerked forward and dirt crunched under his boots as he walked. Bilbo would have struggled if he could have, but he knew that if he happened to fall off the Dwarf’s shoulder he would land painfully hard on the ground. He could do nothing but hang their uselessly with an iron-like arm wrapped over his back and dread filling his stomach.

He’d been captured. After all he’d said about being careful, he was being captured. He stared at the dark cloth in front of his face, already feeling the air around his head growing warm from his own trapped breath.

“Sorry, Aunt Donna,” Bilbo mumbled. “I guess I’m not keeping my promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for . . . (Okay, I'm bad at writing like Castor. She's busy so I'm doing this for her) *Ahem* Here's another chapter for Castor's lovely readers. She's left me a list of things to say in the author's note. So here goes!  
> -I've got one more chapter for all of you and then I have to call it quits for the day  
> -I work over the next two days so I don't know when I'll be able to update again, but I'll try my hardest  
> -Pretty please comment! It's great to hear from all of you while I'm at work  
> I told Castor I suck at writing author's notes for her because I'm a really peppy person in mine and she's not. She choked on her toothbrush. Oops! Anyway, toodles!


	3. The Unfortunate Circumstances of Bilbo Baggins and the Dwarves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right! Last chapter from Castor! Apparently she got up early to write this one and ruined her wrist doing it. (She has carpal tunnell) I don't know how to spell that and I don't feel like googling it. Anyway, all chapters are read by yours truly (moi, Pollux) and edited for supreme perfection.

**The Unfortunate Circumstances of Bilbo Baggins and the Dwarves**

The Dwarves walked for what felt like hours. Bilbo had hoped they would stop every once in a while and let him down but they never did. The Dwarf carrying him showed no sign that he was bothered by the continuous weight on his shoulder. Instead the two Dwarves continued to walk, muttering back and forth to one another as they did so. Bilbo couldn’t understand a single word that was being said. It appeared they didn’t speak any form of Westron, and if they did they certainly didn’t bother speaking it at all.

His stomach was beginning to hurt from being slung over a shoulder for so long. Bilbo shifted slightly on his captor’s shoulder, hoping to at least find a more comfortable position. Instead the Dwarf’s shoulder only dug deeper into his stomach. Grunting, Bilbo kicked feebly in the Dwarf’s grip. He didn’t know why he bothered. Even if he did manage to escape from the Dwarves he still had a sack tied over his head.

The Dwarf didn’t even grunt when Bilbo kneed him in the chest, he simply continued to walk down the road as if nothing had happened. At least, Bilbo hoped they were still on the road. He couldn’t quite hear dirt crunching underfoot anymore. If they had left the road that meant they could be going someplace he didn’t know. Ice filled Bilbo’s chest. What would he do then? He wouldn’t be able to find his way back from the middle of nowhere if he escaped.

Steeling himself, Bilbo tried kneeing the Dwarf in the chest again, this time harder. He hoped if he managed to hit the Dwarf in a soft spot then he would drop him. It didn’t work. Instead the Dwarf simply wrapped his free arm over Bilbo’s legs, trapping them. Bilbo was forced to hang limply over his arm once more. He was trapped. The Dwarf was both bigger and stronger than him, and he had an iron-like grip over both his back and his legs. There was no way for him to escape.

Hanging over the Dwarf’s shoulder Bilbo could do nothing but listen to the Dwarves grumble back and forth to each other and the sound of nature around him. After his failed attempt to kick himself free, Bilbo had simply hung there and listened. After a short while of walking, he realized that he heard the familiar _swish_ of grass. The Dwarves had left the road, as he feared, and were now marching through the field.

The dread pooling in his stomach grew. He didn’t know where they were. The Dwarves could be marching through Green Hill Country or they could have travelled further south. He couldn’t tell without being able to see. But if they had gone south then there was a good chance Bilbo would never be able to find his way back.

Something snapped loudly, shattering the peaceful evening air. Bilbo jumped in the Dwarf’s grip and he heard him chuckle. He scowled. The arm wrapped around his legs loosened enough for the Dwarf to pat him on the back of his thigh, as though assuring him nothing bad was happening. Bilbo tried kicking him and quickly found himself back in the iron grip.

Leaves rustled underfoot as the Dwarves walked. And every once in a while a twig or a branch snapped under the boots. Every time it happened Bilbo jumped in surprise at the sound. It was hard to be able to tell what was happening when he couldn’t see anything.

As the Dwarves walked deeper into the forest, Bilbo didn’t think they could be anywhere else, the air continued to grow colder. It was almost two months now since the snow melted and the spring evenings still grew cold quickly. Bilbo shivered. At this point there was only one real way for him to escape and he didn’t want to use it. He didn’t know what the Dwarves would do if they found out, and he didn’t want to find out.

Voices rang through the trees, calling out in the same guttural language the Dwarves who had captured him used. The Dwarf carrying him called back to them. The new voices raised in excitement. Bilbo couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the Dwarf say what sounded like “ziriz.”

As they drew closer to the new voices Bilbo began to hear the cracklings of a fire. So they had a camp set up. Bilbo shivered. The readiness of these Dwarves scared him. The Dwarf carrying him suddenly stopped and shifted. Bilbo yelped when the Dwarf grabbed him with both hands and hoisted him off of his shoulder. The Dwarf lifted Bilbo easily, as if he didn’t way more than a sack of potatoes, and lowered him to the ground. The rope around his arms tightened slightly as the Dwarf fumbled with it, but eventually it loosed and Bilbo heard it fall to the ground with a soft thump. The Dwarf grabbed Bilbo and forced him to sit. Bilbo struggled slightly in his grip but it was useless, the Dwarf was too strong. There were footsteps behind him and the sack was suddenly ripped off from over his head.

Bilbo closed his eyes quickly when the sudden light of the fire blinded him. He’d spent so much time with the sack over his head it was hard to see now. Gradually his eyes became used to the light once more and he opened them slowly. His heart sank. He was surrounded by three Dwarves who were all both taller and bigger than him. There was no way he’d be able to get away from them.

The three Dwarves muttered back and forth to one another and stared down at the Hobbit sitting between them. Bilbo wilted under the sharp gazes. What did the Dwarves want with him? The new Dwarf Bilbo didn’t recognize, who had a thick, red beard with intricate braids, turned and called over his shoulder to someone. They called back and boots thumped heavily on the ground as they made their way over.

The tattooed Dwarf grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders and spun him around so quickly, the Hobbit didn’t have a chance to react before his chin was grabbed his head jerked back. He struggled against the tattooed Dwarf’s grip but it was useless. The Dwarf was stronger than he was and his entire hand seemed to dwarf Bilbo’s head as he held it still.

A fourth Dwarf stepped up, holding a makeshift torch from the fire. This Dwarf looked, if possible, even stranger than the other three Dwarves. A front portion of his graying beard had been braided so that it curved at the bottom, reminding Bilbo of fishhooks.

Grumbling in their language, the Dwarf brought the torch closer to Bilbo’s face and he would have backed away if he could have, but the tattooed Dwarf held him still. The strange Dwarf leaned forward, eyeing Bilbo carefully before he suddenly reached out and forced Bilbo’s eyes to open more. Bilbo’s struggles went unnoticed as the Dwarf continued to scrutinize him before it finally released him and stepped back. He heard the Dwarf speak the same word from earlier, “Ziriz.”

There was a collective sigh from the Dwarves around him, as though they’d been waiting for him to speak the word. Bilbo looked around himself at them. He didn’t understand. What did Ziriz mean? And why had they been so interested in his eyes? He knew that amber was an uncommon eye color in the Shire, but there were still some other Hobbits who shared it with him. So why had the Dwarves been interested in it?

Bilbo startled when the tattooed Dwarf shifted his grip and lifted him off the ground, dragging him away from the campfire.

“W-What are you doing?” He struggled uselessly in the Dwarf’s grip. “Stop!”

The Dwarf simply ignored him and continued to drag him away. The other three Dwarves watched as he was taken away from them. The hatted Dwarf looked slightly uncomfortable with what was happening. Bilbo turned his attention to the Dwarf.

“Help,” he gasped. “Please!”

The Dwarf’s face flushed red and he looked away. Bilbo’s heart nearly stopped. They understood Westron. They knew what he was saying and yet they had completely ignored him while dragging him here.

“Stop!” Bilbo tried to jerk free of the tattooed Dwarf, but the Dwarf only grunted and dragged him behind a tree. Dropping him on the ground, the Dwarf placed a boot on his stomach and grabbed his hands, lifting them into the air. He drew a knife from his belt and Bilbo’s eyes widened. What was he going to do with that? His struggles increased when the Dwarf brought the knife close to his arm. The Dwarf grunted and tightened his grip on Bilbo’s wrists.

“No!” Bilbo tried desperately to jerk his wrists out of the Dwarf’s grip.

“Stop.” Bilbo’s struggles ceased almost immediately when he heard the word come from the Dwarf. He stared up at him in shock, his mouth hanging open slightly. He was right. They knew Westron.

The Dwarf took Bilbo’s stillness as a chance to slip the knife between his wrists and sawed at the rope binding his hands. The rope fell apart quickly under the knife and fell from his wrists. Bilbo would have taken the chance to break free from the Dwarf and make his escape, but the Dwarf had too tight of a grip on his wrists.

Shoving the knife back into his belt, the Dwarf bent down to pick something up off the ground. Bilbo watched, still shocked by the Dwarf’s use of Westron, as the Dwarf wrapped something around his wrists. He snapped out of his paralyzed state just as the Dwarf finished tying the knot and let Bilbo’s hands fall. He removed his boot from Bilbo’s stomach and turned, heading back around the tree.

Bilbo sat up slowly, watching as the Dwarf disappeared back to the campsite. He was alone. The Dwarf had taken him to a spot where he couldn’t be seen by the camp, tied him up, and left him there. What on earth was happening? He looked down at the rope and tugged at it. It seemed to be of better quality than the first rope they had used, but it had also been tied loose enough that he had some wriggle room but tight enough that he couldn’t slip free. Bilbo looked back up from his hands, then slowly leaned around the tree. He couldn’t see the camp from where he sat, and they couldn’t see him.

Looking around himself, Bilbo couldn’t recognize his exact location but he knew where he was. The Dwarves had brought him to the Woody End, a small forest in the most northern area of the South Farthing. He wasn’t too far from the nearest Hobbit settlement. If he escaped there was a good chance he could reach safety before the Dwarves captured him.

Bilbo took a deep breath. He didn’t want to do this. If the Dwarves happened to see what he could do there was no doubt in his mind they would never release him. And even if he did escape, when the other Hobbits discovered just exactly how he’d gotten away they would cluck their tongues and shake their heads in disapproval. As much as he dreaded the looks he’d receive, Bilbo dreaded his future with the Dwarves more.

Taking another deep breath, Bilbo closed his eyes and let his body relax. Time seemed to disappear from around him as he sat there, his eyes closed and slumped forward. Slowly his skin began to itch and a barely noticeable burn began to spread in his bones. His lips pulled back in discomfort but he did his best to ignore it. Stealth was of the essence right now. He couldn’t let the Dwarves know what was happening. His breathing turned into heavy pants and he fell onto his side, doing his best not to writhe in the pain that was beginning to spread through his body. He hated this, he hated what he was, and most of all he hated Dwarves.

 

The soft sound of bones snapping alerted Dwalin to what was happening. He sat up from leaning against an old, gnarled tree. Turning his head, he kept the oak tree in his peripheral vision. So they’d been right after all. The Hobbit wasn’t a Hobbit at all, he was a skin-changer.

Across from Dwalin, on the other side of the fire, Bofur sat up from where he’d been laying down. He stared at the spot where he’d seen Dwalin drag the skin-changer, his face turning slightly green. Dwalin gave a noncommittal grunt. Apparently the miner had never seen or heard a skin-changer change before. Dwalin had seen it many times before. It was one of the most painful and grotesque experiences ever. Only the older and more experienced skin-changers could change without looking as though they were being ripped apart.

The skin-changer fell silent and Dwalin signaled to the rest of his company. They all stood slowly, doing their best not to make any noise as they moved around the camp. Bofur positioned himself across from Dwalin, standing on the either side of the small entrance. They’d set up nets around the area prior to heading out. The skin-changer would have no choice but to come this way to escape.

Standing absolutely still and barely daring to breathe, Dwalin waited. He knew the skin-changer would poke around a bit before discovering his only option. It took several minutes before he finally heard the leaves and twigs shifting. They had laid an extra layer of debris over the entrance in case the skin-changer had tried to sneak out. Now every rustle made by the skin-changer’s movements sounded like explosions.

The skin-changer’s movements ceased and Dwalin remained where he was. The creature had probably caught their scents or noticed their shadows. Now they were left with two options: either the skin-changer would try to sneak out, thinking no one was watching him, or it would come charging out. Dwalin was prepared for both.

Bofur twitched when the skin-changer made no movement and Dwalin tried not to roll his eyes. Of course Thorin would send him with a Dwarf who couldn’t sit still. He could no longer count on his fingers just how many times he’d nearly smacked Bofur upside the head for being impatient. That was how they’d managed to lose their last quarry.

A deep sigh came from the darkness between the trees and Dwalin braced himself. That was the sound of someone giving in to a choice they didn’t want to make. There was a moment of silence before something exploded out from between the trees. Dwalin leaped forward and tried to snap his arms around the skin-changer.

The small form, he couldn’t quite make it out in the dim light of the campfire, twisted deftly and ducked underneath his arms. Gloin shouted in surprise and there was the heavy sound of boots thumping on the ground as Gloin and Oin joined the fray.

Dwalin picked himself up from the ground and turned around to find Oin positioned in front of the largest gap in the trees. Good. That meant the skin-changer had less of a chance of escaping through that way. Gloin was charging the small form and it seemed like he was about to capture it when the skin-changer twisted around in a split second and darted away. Dwalin cursed and thumped a fist on the ground. The creature had chosen a quick and agile form. It would be near impossible to catch him now, and if he did escape Dwalin doubted they’d ever catch him. Sighing, Dwalin started forward. He might as well try and help catch the skin-changer. With his battle experience they might actually have a chance.

His battle experience didn’t help at all. The skin-changer was too quick for them and every time it seemed like they were about to catch him he’d whip around and dart in the opposite direction. They ended up with more shouting and cursing than necessary. It probably would have continued for the better part of the night if Bofur hadn’t taken a chance that sprung up unexpectedly.

After a moment when Dwalin and Gloin had charged the skin-changer together, the creature had made its usual, agile escape before slowing a stop in front of a small patch of trees. Dwalin and Gloin approached slowly, hoping to fence the creature in when Bofur made his move. Neither the skin-changer nor the Dwarves knew Bofur had hidden in the trees. So when he Dwalin and Gloin had been corralling the skin-changer, Bofur lunged forward and grabbed the creature by the tail.

The skin-changer gave a high-pitched yelp and spun around, closing its teeth around Bofur’s wrist. The Dwarf grimaced but held on as the skin-changer growled and tightened its grip on him. Dwalin took the skin-changer’s lack of attention as a chance to rush forward and wrap his arms around the creature. It gave another yelp and began thrashing when Bofur released its tail, but it was useless. Dwalin kept a tight grip on the small, writhing form as he dragged it closer to the fire.

“Get the collar,” Dwalin managed to say before the skin-changer promptly smacked him in the face with its head. Dwalin cursed and shifted his grip, grabbing the skin-changer by the scruff and kept one arm wrapped tightly around its chest.

The skin-changer released a snarl and renewed its thrashing with vigor, making it difficult for Dwalin to keep his grip on it. Bofur hurried to the packs and dug through them before he finally drew out a strip of leather. Dwalin held the skin-changer as still as he could while Bofur knelt before them and wrapped the leather collar around the skin-changer’s throat. As soon as Bofur finished buckling the collar, Dwalin released his captive.

The skin-changer tried to bolt the moment it was released, and it would have been successful it had Dwalin not grabbed the rope in time. The skin-changer jerked back and fell over onto its side. Sitting up, it shook its head and turned to look back at Dwalin. Spotting the rope in his hands, the skin-changer’s eyes followed the rope until it could no longer see it. Its ears laid back when it realized the rope was attached to the collar Bofur had just put on it. Slowly, its eyes rose to meet Dwalin’s and its lips drew back.

“Bofur,” Dwalin said quietly.

“Aye?” Bofur’s voice was nearly a whisper.

“Grab the end of the rope.” Dwalin kept his eyes on the skin-changer as he spoke. The creature’s body was slowly bunching up, preparing to lunge forward for an attack.

Bofur did as he was told, leaning forward and grabbing the end of the rope of the ground. When he was sure the Dwarf had it in a tight grip, Dwalin dropped his portion to the ground and slowly pushed himself up. The skin-changer reacted faster than he would have thought possible. It lunged forward with a snarl and Dwalin stumbled back from it. The skin-changer’s jaws snapped shut around the empty air and it lunged forward again for another attack. It was jerked back by the rope Bofur held in his hand. The skin-changer got to its feet and shook itself off before slowly turning to look at the miner. Bofur seemed to realize just what position he was in.

“Oh, bugger.” Bofur leaped to the side as the skin-changer charged him and it reacted almost instantly, twisting on its back legs to follow the miner. Trapped on his back with the skin-changer about to pounce on him, Bofur thought quickly and grabbed a branch, holding it with both hands over his head. The skin-changer’s jaws clamped down on the branch and it snarled, trying to jerk the branch out of Bofur’s grip.

“A little help here!”

Dwalin stood from the ground quickly and strode over. The skin-changer was busy trying to pull the branch away from Bofur to notice when Dwalin grabbed the rope. He jerked back, causing the skin-changer to fall over onto its side once more, before he tied the rope to the root of a tree. The skin-changer picked itself up off the ground and shook itself off. It eyed Dwalin carefully before it lunged forward. Dwalin backed up just in time, heading for the opposite side of the campfire.

Bofur quickly picked himself up off the ground and joined Dwalin, eyeing the skin-changer warily. The rope was long enough that the skin-changer could stand close to the fire, but it was also short enough so he couldn’t come around. As long as the Dwarves stayed on the opposite side of the campfire they had less of a chance of getting bitten.

Gloin and Oin settled down beside Dwalin, watching as the skin-changer paced back and forth, jerking at its rope every once in a while. Dwalin snorted. It was highly unlikely the skin-changer would be able to break free. The collar had been made out of two strips of leather with a D-shaped ring sewn between them. There was no chance the skin-changer would be able to break the small metal ring or change back.  Set into the collar was the Dwarves’ greatest secret: an amulet made out of silver with a hematite stone inlaid in it. As long as the collar remained on the skin-changer it was unable to take on any other form.

The skin-changer ceased its pacing and sat down across from them. Its ears laid back as it studied them and Dwalin finally had a chance to get a good look at the creature. Sitting across from the Dwarves was a dog with a mostly black body except for the white covering its chest, front legs, all four paws, and a strip running between its eyes to cover its muzzle. He’d seen this dog before, Dwalin realized. It was a dog used by the Men to herd their sheep. It was no wonder the skin-changer had dodged them so easily. The form it took had the uncanny ability of changing directions without missing a beat. It probably would have outlasted them in stamina if it had been given a chance.

“It won’t quit starin’,” Bofur mumbled. “Why won’t it quick starin’?”

Dwalin shifted to sit on his bedroll and laid back. “It’s a shepherd,” he grumbled. “It’s what they do.” He heard Oin and Gloin settling down for sleep. Bofur seemed to realize just what was happening.

“Why do I have to watch it?” Bofur nearly whined. Dwalin groaned. Why did the miner never shut up?

“Because yer sittin’ up, that’s why,” Dwalin snapped back. “Now get over it and keep watch.”

“But it’s starin’ at me!”

Dwalin opened his eyes and turned his head to glare at the miner. “Then ignore it and keep an eye out.” Bofur made a sound like he’d rather not do that but he remained where he sat. Dwalin rolled over onto his side, his back to the fire, and pillowed his head on his arms. He was just managing to fall asleep when Bofur spoke up again.

“He won’t quit starin’ at me.”

Dwalin groaned. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see, what's the checklist on this one . . ?  
> -Ruined my wrist (check)  
> -Can't update this weekend (check)  
> -Pollux is the most awesome sister in the world (^.^ done and probably going to die for that one)  
> -And pretty please comment (now checked)  
> My job here is done! Toodles!


	4. The Dealings of Bilbo Baggins and Bofur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning everyone! I managed to write another chapter for you, my lovely readers, and post it before I went to work. I do have a couple things to say before I get on with the chapter. First off, thank you to Griffonskies for your comment. Without it I wouldn't have bothered getting out bed after my alarm went off to write a chapter. Also, thank you to Pollux for another chapter title (she's been naming all of them). With nothing else to say I'll let you get to the chapter. Enjoy!

**The Dealings of Bilbo Baggins and Bofur**

The skin-changer wouldn’t quit staring at him. Bofur shifted uneasily where he sat on his bedroll and the skin-changer’s eyes followed him. He stopped moving almost immediately and straightened, back rigid as the creature’s golden eyes continued to pierce him. It was unnatural. No animals should be able to look at someone like that.

Turning his head slowly, Bofur did his best to keep the skin-changer in his peripheral vision while he looked at Dwalin. The Dwarf was already fast asleep, leaving him stuck with a glaring skin-changer. Great. Turning, Bofur checked to see if either Oin or Gloin were awake. All he heard were soft snores coming from the bedrolls and Oin mumbling words from time to time. Sighing in resignation, Bofur turned back to the skin-changer.

The skin-changer’s eyes hadn’t left Bofur once while he had looked for a replacement. Bofur cringed. The way it sat there, staring at him with golden eyes that could be described as almost accusatory. No animals should ever be able to do that. Bofur let his eyes wander around camp before they fell on the packs. An idea formed in his mind. The skin-changer had been carrying a basket of food when they caught him. Maybe he was hungry?

Rising from his spot, Bofur headed over to the packs and began digging around in them. He could feel the skin-changer’s eyes watching him the whole time and he did his best to ignore it. He did that sometimes with the dogs back home, and they eventually gave up. He didn’t know if it would work as well with the skin-changer. When Bofur had agreed to join the spring search parties, he’d been given a lecture by Thorin, they all had.

Thorin had stood on the dais, looking gravely at the thirty-or-so Dwarves gathered around him. He would have sent more, they all knew this, but they simply didn’t have enough Dwarves to spare them. They still needed them to work in the mines or the fields they’d finally managed to successfully start a few years ago.

“You have to remember,” Thorin had said. “These aren’t animals, nor are they any form of man-like creature. They are skin-changers, creatures who will change their form at will. They will do their best to deceive you should you succeed in capturing them.”

The gathered Dwarves looked at each other uneasily, shifting their weight from foot to foot. Dwalin just stood by Bofur, continuing to stare ahead with his arms folded over his chest. Balin, Thorin’s advisor and closest friend, stepped up beside the younger Dwarf.

“What Thorin means,” Balin said. “Is that there is a new generation of skin-changers out there.” The Dwarves stared at him blankly and Balin gave them all a sad smile. “This new generation was not born in any Dwarf kingdom, they were born in the settlements of Hobbits. They won’t recognize you, nor will they trust you.”

Bofur blinked. So that’s why they had to capture the skin-changers. They didn’t trust them enough to return with them to the Blue Mountains.

“We believe this first generation,” Balin continued, “has taken the form of Hobbits and know little else. What they will learn from us will confuse them and quite possibly scare them. Your task is to capture them and bring them back to the Blue Mountains. Here we will be able care for them and teach them their birthright.”

The Dwarves murmured softly to one another, nodding with Balin’s words. They all had the same wish: to see the birthright of the skin-changers restored. The only problem was that it was hard to do when the skin-changers didn’t know anything about their birthright.

Balin looked to Thorin and nodded to him. Thorin returned the gesture before turning back to the assembled Dwarves. “The search parties will go out when the snow has melted. A camp will be set up two days west of the Hobbits. There you may stock up on provisions when you run out.” He gave the Dwarves a grave look. “The parties will be recalled a week before summer.”

Thorin looked as if he wished he didn’t have to say these words. If there had been enough Dwarves in the Blue Mountains, he could have kept them out from spring to fall. Instead he was forced to recall them to work in the mines and fields once summer started.

“We thank you for your contribution to our search efforts,” Balin said. “And we wish you good luck. That is all.”

The assembled Dwarves relaxed slightly and a buzz of conversation started up. Dwalin let him arms fall to his sides before clapping Bofur on his shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Yer in my party.”

Bofur flashed him a grin. “Sounds like a party,” he said. Dwalin only gave him a strange look before turning to head into the crowd. Bofur hurried to catch up with him. “Where are we going?” he asked quickly. He hoped it wouldn’t bother Dwalin that he’d started to ask questions. The Dwarf was notorious for having a bad temper.

“We’re going to the Baranduin,” Dwalin said, showing no sign he was bothered by Bofur’s curiosity. “It’s farther east the main village.”

“But we’ve never been that far,” Bofur said. “Why are they sendin’ us out there?”

Dwalin glanced over his shoulder. “Because a search party said they spotted a skin-changer in that area last year. Thorin wants us to check it out.”

The Baranduin. Bofur frowned. It seemed an awful ways a way for a skin-changer to have settled. Why would they have gone to live all the way out there?

“Oin and Gloin’ll be joinin’ us,” Dwalin said. He glared over his shoulder. “Try not to scare the skin-changers, aye?”

Bofur flashed him another grin. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll do my best.” He continued following Dwalin through the crowd then realized just exactly what the Dwarf had said. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Dwalin exploded in laughter, his shoulders shaking with his laughter. Bofur scowled at him. This was going to be a long spring.

Now Bofur snorted and straightened up from the packs. Birthright. Yeah, right. He glanced over his shoulder at the skin-changer staring at him. The creature acted as if it had never actually met a Dwarf before and it showed no sign of understanding Khuzdul. Was this what happened to first generation skin-changers? Their parents forgot to teach them what they needed to know?

Shrugging, Bofur decided to let it go. It was too late for him to think about this right now, especially with the skin-changer glaring at his back. Turning around, Bofur held up the items he had dug out of his pack: a couple strips of dried meat, a waterskin, and a bowl. The skin-changer actually seemed to balk when it saw them.

“You must be hungry, aye?” Bofur asked. The skin-changer showed no sign of having understood him, but its stare had been turned to the meat in his hands. “I saw you spill your lunch on the road,” Bofur continued. “So I thought you must be a little hungry now.”

Again, the skin-changer ignored him and kept its eyes on the meat. Slowly, so as to not surprise it and cause an attack, Bofur walked around the campfire. The skin-changer turned in its spot, keeping its eyes on the meat. Bofur was grateful for that. Now the skin-changer had something new to glare at instead of him.

Crouching down a little over an arm’s length from the skin-changer, Bofur held out a strip of meat to it. The skin-changer eyed the meat, licking its lips as a small shiver ran through its body, but it didn’t touch it. Its eyes flicked up to meet Bofur’s before resting back on the meat.

“I didn’t do anythin’ to it.” Bofur lifted the meat up to his mouth and took a bite out of it. The skin-changer’s eyes followed the whole process, watching as Bofur chewed and swallowed the meat. “See?” He held it out to the skin-changer once more.

Keeping its eyes on Bofur, the skin-changer stood up and crept forward. It stopped just out of his reach and leaned forward slowly until it could gently close its teeth around the meat. Whipping back, it sat back down and promptly began devouring the meat. When it was done, it turned back expectantly to the Dwarf. Bofur chuckled and held out another strip of meat. The skin-changer took it from him in the same careful process, sneaking forward and standing out of arm’s reach to slide it from his grip before backing up quickly to eat it.

Bofur watched the skin-changer with a sad smile. “I know you don’t understand me,” he said softly. The skin-changer’s ears flicked in his direction, showing he was listening to Bofur. “But we really aren’t goin’ to hurt you.”

The skin-changer finished its last bite of meat and it looked up at Bofur expectantly, licking its chops. Bofur chuckled. “I don’t have anymore, sorry.” He held up his hands to show the skin-changer that they were empty. The skin-changer’s ears went back and its eyes narrowed.

“Here.” Bofur picked up the bowl and poured the water into it. He took a swig from the waterskin before placing the bowl down in front of the skin-changer. The skin-changer eyed the bowl with a distasteful expression before it crept forward.

Flicking its eyes between the bowl and Bofur, the skin-changer lowered its head and began to drink the water. Or at least it tried. When the skin-changer attempted to lap up water from the bowl it managed to spill more water over the edge than it drank. Bofur tried to hold back his chuckles as the skin-changer made a sound in the back of its throat that sounded like a mix between a whine and a growl.

Bofur did his best to hide his smile. “It might work better if you curl your tongue, not over.” The skin-changer gave him a blank stare. Right. It didn’t understand Khuzdul. Glancing over at the sleeping Dwarf, Bofur tried to ignore the guilt growing in his chest. He really shouldn’t be doing this.

Turning back to the skin-changer he switched to Westron. “Try curling your tongue under, not over,” he said. The skin-changer balked, staring at him with a mix of betrayal and accusation. Bofur winced. When the skin-changer had been a Hobbit, Bofur had done his best to ignore his pleas, but it had still noticed when he understood what it said. Now it looked like it would prefer sinking its teeth into its leg than take his advice.

The skin-changer remained where it sat, glaring at Bofur before it eventually seemed to make up its mind. Slowly, it lowered its head to lap at the water. This time it was successful and Bofur saw its throat constricting with every swallow. Bofur smiled down at it.

“I’m Bofur,” he said softly, continuing in Westron. The skin-changer’s eyes flicked up to him but it quickly looked back to the water and continued to drink. “And I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to scare you.” This time the skin-changer’s ears laid back against his head. Bofur sighed. He was still unhappy with them. Unfortunately, that didn’t matter. It would still be returning with them to the Blue Mountains, whether it wanted to or not.

“I’m sorry,” Bofur repeated. He reached out to lay a hand on the skin-changer’s head and ruffle its fur. His fingers had barely even brushed it and the skin-changer reacted. Jerking its head down and out of his reach, the skin-changer leaped back a couple paces and stood glaring at him, its body tense. Bofur let his hand hang in the air for a moment, watching as the skin-changer slowly relaxed.

Bofur turned his hand over and held it out for the skin-changer to sniff. It only continued to glare at him. Bofur let his hand drop into his lap. He’d managed to gain the skin-changer’s trust long enough to feed it but he didn’t have its full trust just yet. He continued to stare at the skin-changer and would have continued to do so if he hadn’t felt something seeping in his pants’ leg. Looking down, Bofur saw what was causing it. When the skin-changer had leaped back from him it had managed to upset the bowl, spilling the water all over the ground. Now the water had begun soaking into his clothes.

Sighing, Bofur stood from his spot and gathered the bowl and waterskin. He emptied what little water had remained in the bowl before carefully packing them away. When he turned back the skin-changer had laid down, its back to the fire and sleeping Dwarves. Bofur sighed again and went to sit down on his bedroll. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter! I don't really have a lot to say other than the Baranduin (I think I spelled that right :S) is the Elvish name for the Brandywine. Border collies have a signature stare called "the eye" where they stalk the sheep and frighten them by glaring at them. I thought it would both work well and be silly that Bilbo uses it repeatedly on the Dwarves, especially Bofur.  
> Chances are I won't be able to write another chapter tonight and possibly not tomorrow. I have a seven page paper I've been avoiding, a short story, and another paper! But I'll see what I can do. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and have a nice day!  
> Oh, one more thing. You write comment I write chapter, yes? :D


	5. The Trials of Bilbo Baggins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! First of all, I'd like to thank you all for being so patient with me. I have been writing papers for the last two days and watching Battle of the Five Armies extended edition yesterday. So I didn't really have a lot of time to write a chapter.  
> Second of all, I'd like to apologize in advance for the chapter. It literally has one word of dialogue. Why? Because when you're protagonist is a dog and doesn't understand what everyone else is saying it's pretty much impossible to write any dialogue.   
> And third of all, Pollux thought it would be best for me to say this: any control tactics used by the Dwarves is not meant to be perceived as animal abuse. This story takes place in a completely different time period than our own (which means certain practices aren't known yet) and what the Dwarves do doesn't actually hurt Bilbo. Just annoys him and stresses him out.  
> And now onto the chapter. Happy Reading!

**The Trials of Bilbo Baggins**

Bilbo ignored Bofur for the rest of the night. Guilt surged through his chest when he heard the Dwarf sigh a second time, but he ignored it. Just because Bofur had given him food and water didn’t mean he had to like the Dwarf. He’d still helped kidnap him, after all, and Bilbo wouldn’t be forgetting that any time soon. The leaves rustled and crunched as Bofur shifted in his spot. Bilbo continued to ignore him. If the Dwarf was uncomfortable where he was sitting then good for him. He deserved it.

Bilbo’s eyes began to drift shut, his exhaustion of the day’s events catching up to him. His dearest wish was to go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare in his own bed at Bag End, not tied to a tree in some Dwarf’s camp. His body slowly began to relax as he fell asleep. Bag End. It would be so nice to wake up in his own bed and not worry about Dwarves dragging him to these Blue Mountains.

 Something shifted behind Bilbo and his eyes flew open, ear perking up at the noise. He remained still, listening for the noise again. It never came and he began to relax again, thinking of Bag End and his warm hearth. There he didn’t have to worry about being kidnapped. There he was safe. The sound came again and Bilbo’s eyes snapped open, again. He stared at the darkness in front of him, wondering just exactly what it was he was hearing. He pricked an ear up, listening intently but he didn’t hear anything. Huffing, Bilbo settled down to sleep once more.

The sound came a third time and Bilbo’s head shot up and whipped around to look behind himself. Bofur sat on his bedroll, looking slightly surprised by Bilbo’s quick movement. Bilbo stared at him and, when he showed no signs of stopping, Bofur gave him a small wave as if greeting him. Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him. He was ridiculous. Bofur shifted on his bedroll and the leaves underneath him crunched as he moved. Bilbo’s ears laid back against his head. So that was what was making the noise. Lovely. He turned his head back around and laid it on the ground between his paws, intent on continuing to ignore Bofur.

Bofur shifted on his bedroll and the leaves crunched once more. Bilbo released a barely audible growl. Dwarves and shepherds, he hated them both. One was too noisy and the other heard too well. Bilbo closed his eyes tightly and prepared to ignore any small sounds he heard and get some sleep. It almost worked. He was able to ignore Bofur’s shifting and off-and-on humming for the most part, but he was woken up when the Dwarf decided to stand up and move around camp. He heard the leaves crunching under Bofur’s boots as he walked and something shifted several times, as if he was shaking someone.

One of Bilbo’s ears perked up when he heard voices speaking softly. They were probably barely audible to the Dwarves but he heard them all too well. Bofur and the Dwarf muttered back and forth to each other until the second Dwarf stood with a groan and moved across the camp. Bofur followed the Dwarf and sat down before he made a bit more noise then fell silent. Bilbo glanced over his shoulder again. The red-haired Dwarf had taken Bofur’s spot and was now sitting at the edge of the campfire, staring into the night. He caught Bilbo watching him and offered him a small smile before returning to stare out at the darkness.

Bilbo laid his head back down and closed his eyes. Maybe this Dwarf would be a bit quieter than Bofur and he could get some sleep. The Dwarf, much to Bilbo’s gratitude, was quieter than Bofur and left him alone for the night. He shifted every once in a while where he sat, but Bilbo was able to ignore him for the most part. It was when the red-haired Dwarf stood up what must have been hours later and woken up a third Dwarf. Bilbo listened as they exchanged words before the red-haired Dwarf presumable returned to his bedroll and the new Dwarf took over watching the night.

The camp fell quiet after the red-haired Dwarf had gone to sleep and Bilbo had just begun to doze when he felt it: someone was watching him. The fur on his hackles rose. The feeling had been bothering him since the red-haired Dwarf had gone to sleep. He lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at the current watchman. It was the tattooed Dwarf. If Bilbo could have scowled he would have. Instead, he was forced to settle for laying his ears against his head and narrowing his eyes at the Dwarf. The tattooed Dwarf raised an eyebrow at him, as if he expected him to do something. Bilbo turned his head and let it fall to the ground with a soft _thump_. Maybe if he ignored the Dwarf and pretended to sleep the Dwarf would get bored and stop watching him.

The Dwarf didn’t get bored. At all. He continued to stare at Bilbo through the rest of the night, even when Bilbo glared at him over his shoulder and given a soft growl. The Dwarf simply raised his eyebrow a second time. Clearly he was unimpressed with Bilbo and didn’t seem to care how much his staring was bothering him.

The sky above them began to lighten and Bilbo was awoken by the birds chirping. Normally he loved to hear the birds greet the morning, he even left some seed out for them in his garden, but not this morning. This morning he flattened his ears against his head and wished they would stop singing so he could get some sleep. The birds continued to sing and Bilbo lifted his head to glare up into the trees. Why couldn’t they just stop already?

Someone laughed behind him and Bilbo whipped his head around to look. Bofur had woken up and was now sitting up in his bedroll, gesturing at Bilbo and speaking to the other Dwarves. The red-haired Dwarf, still looking a little groggy, grumbled something in response and laid back down. The tattooed Dwarf barked something at him and the red-haired Dwarf replied in the same mumble. Bofur shrugged and stood from his bedroll. Moving to his packs, he began to dig around in them. Bilbo watched his every movement, staring at him intently until someone else moved. His eyes snapped to them and he watched as the tattooed Dwarf stretched, reaching for the sky and arching his back. Bilbo heard several of his bones pop and he winced. The Dwarf’s back must be sore from leaning against the tree.

Bofur started talking to the tattooed Dwarf as he pulled things out the packs. He completely ignored the glares he got from his two companions, the red-haired Dwarf having been forced to wake up because of how much Bofur talked. Bilbo watched as he moved around camp, setting a pot above the fire while still talking to the two Dwarves. Both Dwarves ignored him. Apparently neither of them were morning people.

Bilbo felt someone watching him and he shifted his gaze to look at the tattooed Dwarf. His ears flattened against his head and he huffed at him. Hadn’t the Dwarf stared at him long enough last night? The tattooed Dwarf turned to Bofur and asked him something, gesturing to Bilbo. Bofur responded in the same cheerful manner he had started talking in. The tattooed Dwarf listened to him for a little bit before he rolled his eyes and went to the packs. He dug around in them for a little bit before he took out a couple bowls, a waterskin, and some meat. Dropping the meat in one bowl, he set it on the ground before filling the second bowl with water and setting it beside the first.

Bilbo watched as the tattooed Dwarf turned around to return the waterskin to the packs before joining Bofur by the campfire. Bilbo approached the food and water slowly, keeping an eye on the Dwarves. He didn’t want to be caught off-guard around them. They’d already deprived him of a full night’s sleep, he didn’t need them to take advantage of that and try to do something to him. Lowering his head, Bilbo snapped up a piece of meat and chewed it quickly. He hated eating like this. It felt like they were treating him like a dog, feeding him with a bowl. Technically he was a dog, but that didn’t mean he appreciated being treated like one.

While Bilbo ate the Dwarves began their own morning tasks. The tattooed Dwarf rolled up the bedrolls and attached them to the packs while Bofur set about cooking breakfast. The red-haired Dwarf worked to wake the older Dwarf up, shaking him roughly before eventually just kicking him in the ribs. The old Dwarf woke with a start, grumbling at the red-haired Dwarf and rolling over. The Dwarf threw his hands up in the air and snapped something at the old Dwarf before turning and stomping toward the fire. Bofur spoke to him in what must have been too cheerful a tone because the red-haired Dwarf snapped at him. Bofur only shrugged at the response and turned to the pot, spooning out some of the porridge he’d been cooking.

Bilbo watched as Bofur handed out the bowls to the other two Dwarves before going and waking the old Dwarf. He had an easier time than the red-haired Dwarf did. He stood over the Dwarf and said something it. He repeated it when the old Dwarf made no move to get up and the Dwarf groaned, throwing his blanket aside to rise from his bedroll and join them for breakfast.

The Dwarves worked quickly to eat their porridge and pack up camp. Bofur disappeared with the pot and dishes for a short while and returned, having cleaned them in a nearby stream. Or at least that’s what Bilbo guessed, since the dishes looked relatively clean from wherever Bofur had taken them. Bofur stopped by to pick up Bilbo’s bowls – he shuddered to think of them like that – and dump the excess water out before packing them all away.

Bilbo paid little attention to the Dwarves as they packed their bags until he noticed the tattooed Dwarf pull something out of his pack: a long strip of leather. Bilbo’s ears flattened against his head and he bared his teeth when the Dwarf turned around to face him. The Dwarf didn’t seem to notice him, either that or he completely ignored him, and spoke to other Dwarves. Bofur glanced at Bilbo, looking slightly uncomfortable. The tattooed Dwarf barked something at him and Bofur nodded.

Together, Bofur and the red-haired Dwarf approached Bilbo. He backed away from them, keeping his teeth bared and releasing a small growl. Bofur cringed, as though he expected Bilbo to leap at him at any moment, but continued to approach him slowly. Bilbo backed away from them until he unexpectedly ran into something. He glanced behind himself and caught sight of tree. His eyes widened. He’d just backed himself into a corner, so to speak. He turned back around, prepared to growl again, and yelped when Bofur and the red-haired Dwarf leaped at him.

Bilbo struggled when the two Dwarves grabbed a hold of him and wrestled him to the ground. Bofur managed to pin him to the ground by resting a knee on his side while the red-haired Dwarf grabbed him by the scruff and forced his head to the ground. Bilbo snarled at them and snapped, his teeth closing a hair breadth away from the Dwarf’s arm. The red-haired Dwarf jerked back slightly but he kept his grip tight on Bilbo.

The tattooed Dwarf approached the trio when they had Bilbo immobile. Crouching down, he reached out and worked to untie the rope from Bilbo’s collar. Bilbo snapped at his arm but the Dwarf only moved it out of reach. When he had untied the rope, the Dwarf tossed it aside and took the leather strip, attaching it with a small metal click to the D-ring on Bilbo’s collar. As soon as he had finished, Bofur and the red-haired Dwarf released Bilbo and stood up quickly, backing away from him.

Bilbo surged to his feet and lunged away from the tattooed Dwarf. He was jerked back by the leather strip. A leash, he realized, the Dwarves had just put him on a leash. They meant to take him with them. Bilbo leaned back on the leash, trying to drag it out of the tattooed Dwarf’s grip. He didn’t want to go where they were going. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to Bag End.

The tattooed Dwarf barked something and jerked on the leash but Bilbo held his ground. He wasn’t going anywhere with them, even if they tried to drag him. The Dwarf scowled and jerked on the leash again. Bilbo tried to pull back farther, the collar cutting into the back of his neck. He ignored the small amount of pain. If it meant he might get away from the Dwarves then he’d endure it. The Dwarf looked about ready to resort to drastic measures – which Bilbo didn’t want to think of – when Bofur stepped in. He spoke to the tattooed Dwarf, gesturing at Bilbo – he hated it when they did that, it felt like they were talking about him behind his back. The Dwarf listened to Bofur before nodding and speaking a sharp word to him.

Bofur turned and headed back to the packs. Bilbo was beginning to hate them. He never knew what was going to come out of the packs. When Bofur turned back around Bilbo actually stopped pulling on the leash for a moment. The Dwarf had taken two more strips of leather out of the packs, except these ones were shorter than the leash and had buckles on the ends. Bilbo recognized them as belts and he pulled back on the leash again. He didn’t want to know what Bofur had planned for him.

The tattooed Dwarf suddenly stepped forward and Bilbo stumbled back, the leash having gone slack. He would have continued to back away if hands hadn’t grabbed him from behind. Bilbo yelped and writhed in their grip as the tattooed Dwarf approached them. He grabbed onto Bilbo and wrapped an arm around his neck, dragging his head to the Dwarf’s chest. He pinned it there by placing a hand over Bilbo’s head.

Bilbo struggled as he felt someone step over him, straddling him so they could hold his body still. Bofur moved from the packs to the group, drawing one of the belts out to hold it before him. The Dwarf straddling Bilbo grabbed his left foreleg and drew it up on his body. Bilbo’s wriggling slowed down as he struggled to maintain balance. What were they doing to him? He tried to follow Bofur’s movements as the Dwarf bent over him but struggled. The tattooed Dwarf’s grip on him was too strong and he couldn’t shift his head to watch Bofur. The belt passed over his back and wrapped around his body before it tightened. Bofur released it and reached for the second belt, doing the same with it as he’d done with the first belt. As soon as he had finished the Dwarves released Bilbo, allowing him to move around on his own.

Bilbo nearly fell over. Bofur had used the two belts to bind his leg to his body, leaving him unbalanced. He jerked his leg against the belts but he was unable to move. Bofur had pulled the belts tight enough that Bilbo couldn’t slip his leg free, even if he struggled against them. Bilbo reached down to try and bite at them – he didn’t have hands, after all, he couldn’t very well just unbuckle them – but he couldn’t reach the belts. He growled slightly in frustration and tried the other side. It had the same affect, he couldn’t reach the belts and he was left with his leg trapped against his body.

The tattooed Dwarf tugged on the leash and Bilbo nearly fell over again. In order to keep on his feet, Bilbo was forced to limp a couple steps to the Dwarf’s side. He looked up at the Dwarf and bared his teeth. He would have lunged at him if he could have but he had the distinct feeling that he’d fall over if he tried that. The tattooed Dwarf grunted something and Bofur shrugged, mumbling something in return. For once the Dwarf didn’t look so cheerful. He seemed almost sorry to have put Bilbo in his position.

 “Sabsini.” The tattooed Dwarf tugged on the leash again and Bilbo was forced to follow him over to the packs. The old Dwarf handed the tattooed Dwarf his pack and the Dwarf shrugged it on, keeping a tight grip on the leash as he did so.

Bilbo watched the Dwarf as he put his pack on, waiting for an opportunity to break free. Even if he did, though, he probably wouldn’t make it very far. He could barely even stay standing on three legs, how would he be able to get away from the Dwarves if he tried running?

The Dwarves finished getting their packs on and they headed out of the campsite, Bilbo limping alongside the tattooed Dwarf. The leash looked to be about five feet long but the Dwarf kept the leash wound up, forcing Bilbo to walk alongside him. Bilbo was unable to fight against the Dwarf and was forced to follow him if he didn’t want to fall over.

Bilbo paused when they reached the edge of the campsite and he looked back. It was most likely the last place he’d ever see of the Shire. Especially if the Dwarves planned to keep him now that they knew what he was. The tattooed Dwarf allowed Bilbo to look at the small clearing for a moment before he tugged on the leash. Bilbo turned and followed him as dread pooled in his stomach. It was time for an adventure, not that he wanted one, and it looked like he was going to the Blue Mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. I have another paper to write tonight (what's wrong with my professors?) so I won't be able to write a second chapter tonight. However, I do not have any papers to write tomorrow so hopefully I'll be able to get some writing done! Until then, see you all later!
> 
> You write comment, I bring chapter tomorrow, yes? :D


	6. The Troubles of the Dwarves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I got a comment from the lovely BiliBob so I wrote a chapter! It took me almost four hours to write (lots of rewriting included) and I hope it turned out okay. Feel free to give me an opinion on the chapter!
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Troubles of the Dwarves**

They stopped for a short break at midday in an area of the Shire Bofur had never seen before. When the party had first entered the Shire, they’d come in through the north and continued on to the Baranduin. In the north they had passed by several Hobbit settlements and had done their best to sneak by them without being noticed. This turned out to be quite difficult with four Dwarves who were all used to tromping around. Sneaking around through the grass wasn’t exactly their specialty. Now they were crossing through the southern part of the Shire and all Bofur saw were endless fields of grass. It was vastly different than what he’d seen in the north.

Bofur slipped his pack off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground with a heavy _thud_ He grimaced at the sound of the pot clattering about inside. It was one of Bombur’s best pots and if he brought it back damaged, his brother would be not at all happy with him. Gloin slowed to a halt beside him and let his own pack fall to the ground. Groaning, he leaned back to stretch the kinks out of his pack. When he straightened up he looked around himself.

“I always forget what it’s like down here,” Gloin said, shaking his head. Bofur’s head snapped from where he’d been watching Oin and Dwalin approaching them. He stared at his companion in surprise.

“You’ve been down here?” Bofur asked.

Gloin nodded. “Aye, two years ago. Balin thought it would be best if we came and searched near the settlements in the south.”

Bofur frowned and looked around them. “I don’t see any settlements.”

“It’s farther north,” Gloin said, pointing in the direction. “We caught sight of it while we were down here and stuck around for a couple of days.” He chuckled as he remembered that year. “We almost caught a Hobbit that year.”

“What happened?” Bofur asked, curious. He’d never heard Gloin talk about the time they’d let a Hobbit slip through their fingers.

“The wee thing was a fighter,” Gloin said, grinning at the memory. “He kept biting and kicking us until he managed to break free and run off.” He frowned and his tone became serious. “We didn’t see another Hobbit for the rest of the spring.”

Bofur made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. That had been one of the worst years since their rescue parties had begun. There had been only a few captures of Hobbits before they all seemingly disappeared for the rest of the spring. Bofur guessed that they had caught wind of where the Dwarves were and hid out in their homes until summer.

The two Dwarves turned away from staring at the north when Dwalin and Oin finally joined them. Oin had a peaceful expression on his face while Dwalin’s face was a slight red and he kept glaring at the Oin.

“Did he forget his trumpet again?” Gloin asked, looking his older brother up and down. Oin didn’t pay him any attention and looked around himself to see where they had stopped. Or he was ignoring Gloin, they could never really tell with Oin. Sometimes he needed his hearing trumpet and sometimes he didn’t. It really all depended on what kind of a mood he was in.

“No.” Dwalin glared at Oin’s back. “He left it in his pack,” he spoke through his teeth, enunciating each word with an anger even Bofur wouldn’t dare to rile up. Oin continued to ignore them, oblivious to Dwalin’s current opinion of him. The skin-changer looked between the two Dwarves with an almost amused look on his face. Bofur grinned. At least someone found Dwalin’s predicament funny.

Muttering about crazy old coots who needed to actually carry their trumpets around, Dwalin bent down to start unbuckling the belts around the skin-changer. It reacted almost instantly, twisting its body so it could reach back and snap at his hands. Dwalin jerked back, cursing in surprise. The skin-changer bared its teeth at him, its ears laid flat against its head. Dwalin glared down at it, looking ready to throttle it. Bofur quickly stepped in.

“Why don’t I take it?” he said, holding out a hand. Dwalin looked ready to argue with him and Bofur tried giving him a friendly smile. Grudgingly, and looking rather dubious, Dwalin handed the leash over to him and marched a few short steps away.

Gloin sighed. “I don’t know what’ll drive us all mad first,” he said. “My brother being ornery or Dwalin’s temper.”

“It’s just a bad day,” Bofur said. “Everyone’ll cheer up later.”

Gloin gave him a disbelieving stare. “You never stop being cheerful, do you?”

“Nope.”

Gloin shook his head and turned to join Dwalin. He grabbed his brother’s arm on the way, dragging Oin along with him despite his brother’s protests.

“Where are we going?” Oin asked loudly. “Are we starting out so soon?” Gloin only groaned and ignored his brother.

Bofur turned to the skin-changer and crouched down to be level with it. It eyed him silently, its ears lying flat against its head. If it keeps doing that, Bofur thought, someone’s going to think we cut its ears off. Shaking his head, Bofur reached out to undo the belt buckles. The skin-changer reacted almost instantly, turning its head to snap at his hands. Bofur pushed its nose away gently.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. The skin-changer’s ears flicked at the sound of his voice, though it showed no sign of understanding him. Bofur wondered how long it would be before it managed to learn Khuzdul.

Bofur reached out once more to work on the belts. This time the skin-changer allowed him to unbuckle them one by one. Bofur let them fall to the ground while he kept the skin-changer’s leg in a tight grip. The skin-changer pulled on its leg, looking unsure about what was happening.

“Your blood’s been cut off,” Bofur said. He began to rub his hand over the leg, working the muscle under his fingers to loosen it. The skin-changer still tugged on its leg and watched his hand warily, but at least it didn’t bite. “You’ll fall over if you try to stand.”

Bofur continued to massage the muscles in the leg until he decided he’d gotten the blood flowing once more. He released the skin-changer’s leg and it lowered its paw to the hard packed earth before it did the most amusing thing Bofur had seen: the skin-changer lowered the front of its body to the ground in what looked almost like a bow. It made a sound like a soft groan before it straightened up and gave a little shake. Bofur grinned. It appeared the skin-changer could be amusing when it wanted to be.

“I really am sorry,” Bofur said. “I wish we didn’t have to do this but we don’t have a choice.” The skin-changer ignored him and looked out at the grass surrounding them. Bofur sighed and fiddled with the leash in his hands. “Erebor used to be filled with skin-changers,” he said softly. The skin-changer’s ear flicked back when it heard him speak. “And then they all disappeared. Thorin thinks they’re somewhere in the Shire.” The skin-changer turned to look at him, as if it had understood what he was saying. “That’s why we’ve been sendin’ out search parties, to find the missin’ skin-changers.” The skin-changer looked away again.

Bofur sighed and continued to fiddle with the leash. He wondered for what felt like the hundredth time if they were actually doing the right thing. If the skin-changers had wanted to return home, wouldn’t they have just headed for the Blue Mountains? He looked at the skin-changer sitting beside him. This one didn’t act anything at all like the ones he’d heard about. It was said that a skin-changer could take on any form it wanted and that once a bond formed between a Dwarf and a skin-changer they could understand each other without speaking a word. Somehow, Bofur wasn’t sure if he believed in those stories. If skin-changers had been so close to the Dwarves then why was this one fighting them?

“How is he?”

Bofur looked up at Dwalin’s voice. His companion seemed to tower over him, blocking out the sun with his head. The skin-changer turned its head to look at Dwalin, its ears laying down. Bofur flashed him his usual grin.

“He’s right as rain,” he said.

“Best get him tied up, then,” Dwalin said. “We’ll be headin’ out soon enough. I don’t want to have to fight with him for an hour.”

Bofur sighed and stood up. “Aye, you’re right. Would you mind gettin’ Gloin?”

Dwalin grunted and turned, calling out for Gloin join them. Gloin stood from his spot, motioning for his brother to stay behind while he helped them. The skin-changer looked between the three Dwarves, wearing an almost bewildered expression. Bofur watched as realization dawned on its face and it surged to its feet, lunging away from him. He tightened his grip on the leash quick enough that the skin-changer was unable to escape. The skin-changer jerked to a halt and pulled back on its leash, its eyes wide.

“Help hold onto him,” Dwalin said, already moving to grab the skin-changer by the collar. It snapped at his hand but it did no good. Dwalin simply grabbed it on the other side and pinned its head to his chest easily. The skin-changer gave a high-pitched whine and wriggled in his grip, its body moving back and forth in its struggles.

Gloin sighed and stepped over the skin-changer, leaning down to grasp its right foreleg and bring it up to its body. Bofur reached over, picked up the two belts, and stood up from his spot. The skin-changer released another whine and its struggles increased as he grew near.

“It’s all right,” Bofur said. “We’re not goin’ to hurt you.” The skin-changer gave another whine.

“Just hurry it up already,” Dwalin grunted. Bofur frowned but stepped forward, preparing to wrap the belt around the skin-changer’s body.

It happened faster than any of the Dwarves would have expected. The skin-changer managed to slip its head out from under Dwalin’s hand and sank its teeth into his arm. Dwalin shouted in surprise and released his grip, accidently setting the skin-changer free. Gloin didn’t even have a chance to shout as the skin-changer twisted in his grip. One minute he had it trapped beneath him and the next the skin-changer had slipped out of his grasp. Gloin stumbled forward, reaching out to grab at the skin-changer, but it moved quick as lightning, its body twisting out of his reach. Dwalin lunged for the skin-changer and it leaped to the side, dodging the Dwarf deftly. Dwalin cursed loudly and struggled to get to his feet before the skin-changer could get away.

Bofur stood watching the whole debacle for a minute, dumbfounded. How had the skin-changer managed to slip away so easily? Dwalin reached the skin-changer, about to grab it by the tail and it whipped around, backing up quickly.

“Bofur!” Dwalin all but roared. “Would ye actually do somethin’?”

Bofur jumped slightly, startled by Dwalin’s shout, before he said, “Right,” and leaped into the fray. Hopefully they’d be able to catch the skin-changer before it managed to slip away.

It was like the previous night all over again. The Dwarves got close enough to grab the skin-changer and it slipped away from them at the last second. At one point Bofur was sure he saw the skin-changer smiling. If dogs could even do that.

Bofur slowed to a stop, panting for breath, and watched as the skin-changer escaped Gloin yet again. Bofur frowned. There was something off about the skin-changer. It moved in a manner that it was trying to keep away from them, not escape them. But why would it do that? His eyes fell on the leash trailing behind the skin-changer. Maybe it wasn’t trying to escape them, Bofur realized. Maybe it was trying to keep them from grabbing the leash.

Dwalin’s fingers closed on thin air and he cursed loudly. Oin had finally looked up from where he was sitting and he had a confused expression on his face.

“What’s going on over there?” Oin called. “You didn’t let him slip away, did you?”

Dwalin responded with something that had the old Dwarf looking slightly offended and turning his back on them. Bofur groaned. There went any chance of getting Oin’s help. Now it would just be them against the skin-changer. Unless he managed to get ahold of the leash – Bofur’s eyes fell on the long strip of leather – then maybe they had a chance of catching the skin-changer.

His chance came when the skin-changer ducked under Gloin’s grasping hands. It turned its back on Bofur for a split second and he reacted, lunging forward to crash onto his front on the ground and grab the leash. The skin-changer gave a startled yelp and whipped around, but it was too late. When it tried to lunge to the side to make its usual escape, the skin-changer crashed onto its side. Shaking its head, the skin-changer stood up and looked at Bofur with an expression that promise pain. For a moment Bofur had the same feeling as the previous night, when the skin-changer had looked at him the same way after he’d grabbed its rope.

The skin-changer lunged forward and would have probably sank its teeth into any part of Bofur it could reach if Dwalin hadn’t crashed into it at the same time. The leash was nearly jerked out of Bofur’s grip as the skin-changer and Dwalin tussled. Despite its quick speed and agility, the skin-changer was no match for a Dwarf when it had nowhere to go. Dwalin had it pinned down after a short struggle, holding it in place by pressing a knee into its side.

“Get. The. Belts,” Dwalin managed to say. His face was beet red and had a sheen of sweat layering it. Either the Dwarf was angry or simply out of breath, Bofur couldn’t tell. He simply did as Dwalin ordered and grabbed the belts from where they’d fallen. The skin-changer attempted snapping at them again and Dwalin stopped it by closing a hand around its muzzle. It gave a sharp whine of surprise and struggled weakly against the Dwarf.

“Gloin,” Dwalin said sharply. It was obvious he’d lost his temper at this point and would probably yell at whoever bothered him next.

“Aye.” Gloin stepped forward and helped to restrain the skin-changer, pulling its right foreleg up to its body once more.

The skin-changer whined and wriggled in the Dwarves’ grips but it was useless. Bofur worked quickly to buckle the belts around it, trapping the skin-changer’s leg to its body, before it was released. The skin-changer wobbled slightly where it stood, unused to having the opposite leg bound to its body.

Dwalin stood up from the ground, dusting himself off. “Get the packs,” he said. “We’re leaving now.”

Gloin turned and headed over to his brother, already shouting out Dwalin’s words to him. Oin turned to look and appeared to be listening, but Bofur wasn’t sure if he even heard them. The skin-changer stood beside him, its head low and its ears back. When Dwalin approached them, it gave a soft whine and crouched down slightly, its tail tucking between its legs. Dwalin ignored it and took the leash from Bofur. Bofur’s frown of disapproval went either unnoticed or ignored, but he didn’t say anything. No one dared to say anything to Dwalin when he was this angry.

“We keep walkin’ till sunset,” Dwalin said, looping the leash around his hand. The skin-changer stood silently beside him, looking anywhere but the Dwarf. “We do that and we have a chance of gettin’ to camp in three days at least.” Bofur nodded silently, still not daring to speak. Dwalin tugged on the leash. “Come on,” he said. “Sabsini.”

The skin-changer followed Dwalin obediently, keeping its head low as it walked. It seemed like even it could tell not to press its luck with Dwalin. Bofur swallowed thickly. Why did it have to fight so much? Why couldn’t it understand they were only trying to help? They were taking him home, after all, weren’t they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could have written a second chapter today, but I didn't have the time. Unfortunately this is the only chapter I'm going to be able to post today and tomorrow. My family and I are going to be out of town so I won't be able to get any work done on the story. Hopefully I'll have some time on Saturday!
> 
> As usual: You write comment, I write chapter, yes? :D


	7. The Dilemma of Bofur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, all! You are the best readers anyone could ask for! I posted the last chapter on Thursday with a note saying I wouldn't be able to post for the next couple days and I woke up Friday to find I had four comments! I wanted to write a chapter so badly for you guys but I didn't have the time. I spent most of Friday and Saturday either on the road or in Duluth so I didn't get the chance to write anything :( But here I am now! A new chapter I actually wrote last night but needed Poullux to read over and give a chapter title (she's been naming all my chapters for me). So, here we are, one new chapter for my amazing readers!
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Dilemma of Bofur**

Bofur sat at the edge of the fire, trying to carve a new toy for his youngest niece. Normally, he was very good at carving – he could carve almost any toy a child could want – but for some reason he simply couldn’t carve tonight. What had once started out as a bear standing up on its hind legs, now looked more like a dog sitting down with his tail curled around him. Bofur frowned. It didn’t make any sense why couldn’t carve a simple bear. He used to be able to carve them easily.

Something sighed and Bofur looked up from his carving. The skin-changer sat on the other side of the campfire with its back to him. It sat in almost the exact same position as the carving he was working on. Bofur looked down at the small carving of the dog and turned it over in his hands. This dog looked happier than the skin-changer right now. It sat up with its tail curled around itself, its ears perked, and eyes that looked bright once they had been properly painted. To most it would look like any other dog, but to Bofur it looked like a shepherd who was happy for once in his life. Bofur closed his hand around the carving tightly, prepared to toss it into the fire.

“That for yer niece?” A voice asked from behind Bofur.

Bofur whirled around, his eyes widening when he spotted Dwalin standing behind him. The Dwarf looked pointedly down at the small carving in his hands and Bofur unconsciously closed his hand around it.

“Aye,” Bofur said. “I was thinkin’ of givin’ it to her.”

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. “And now?”

“Now I don’t think I can,” Bofur said softly. He turned around to look back at the skin-changer. He knew why it sat there, its back to him, facing the north and giving a barely audible whine every so often.

Dwalin sighed and Bofur cringed. He knew what the Dwarf must think of him. He was being soft. He shouldn’t let the simple fact that the skin-changer was upset and wanted to go home stop him from bringing it to the Blue Mountains. Bofur looked down at the carving. He wanted the skin-changer to look like this dog: with its tail wrapped around itself and ears perked up while it waited for someone to come home.

Dwalin groaned as he sat down beside Bofur, startling the Dwarf out of his musings. He sat there and waited miserably for Dwalin to begin lecturing him on what skin-changers meant to them. After all, that’s what it seemed like everyone talked about nowadays, how they wanted the skin-changers to return to the Blue Mountains. Every year they sent out search parties, hopeful that they’d find at least one, and every summer they would say, “Maybe next year.” Bofur didn’t get it. Why would someone want to drag a skin-changer from his home and force it to go to the Blue Mountains? Why wouldn’t they want to let it be happy? He was jerked out of his thoughts, once again, by Dwalin, who had begun to speak.

“I had a friend in Erebor,” Dwalin said in a soft voice that sounded almost strained, as though he was trying to hold something back. “I don’t really remember his name all that well, only that he had a sister.” Dwalin rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. He kept his eyes on the skin-changer sitting with its back to them. “I grew up with him, and he grew up with me. We used to play all the time, and when I got too old to play anymore, so did he.” Dwalin fell silent as he took a deep, shuddering breath.

Bofur waited for Dwalin to continue, and when he made no move to do so he spoke up. “What happened to him?” Bofur asked. “Did he die in Erebor?”

Dwalin shook his head. “No,” he said. “He made it out alive, so did his sister. They were in the Blue Mountains when we marched for Moria.” Dwalin smiled sadly, as if he was remembering a happier time. “He wanted to come with us, but Bungo wouldn’t allow it.”

Bofur sucked in a breath. Bungo. He knew that name from somewhere. He didn’t want to ask and seem stupid but he had to. “Who’s Bungo?”

Now it was Dwalin’s turn to look surprised. “‘Who’s Bungo?’ Ye mean ye don’t know Bungo the Brave?”

Bofur shook his head silently. He knew it would seem stupid for him to have asked that.

“Bungo was the skin-changer of Prince Frerin,” Dwalin said. “He was the one who managed to keep him in line when others couldn’t.”

Bofur’s eyes widened. “What do you mean keep him in line?”

Dwalin snorted. “You didn’t honestly think Frerin attended all those formal meetings because he wanted to, did you? He went because Bungo didn’t give him a choice.”

Bofur stared at Dwalin, bewildered. The only skin-changer he’d seen so far was a sad creature that wanted nothing to do with them. If their skin-changer and Bungo were the same creatures then how come Bungo acted like a completely different one? How had something that could change into any animal managed to keep a prince of Erebor in line?

 Dwalin grinned. “By threatenin’ him,” he said, answering Bofur’s unspoken question. “No one else knew what Frerin feared the most besides Bungo. All he had to do was stomp one paw and the prince would stop whatever he was doin’ and start behavin’.”

“What happened to him?” Bofur asked softly. If Bungo had been so close to Frerin why hadn’t he seen him at the Blue Mountains at all? Wouldn’t he have wanted to stay close to his prince’s kin?

The grin disappeared from Dwalin’s face. “He died at Azanulbizar,” Dwalin said softly, his voice cracking. “He fell defendin’ Prince Frerin’s body. It nearly tore Thorin apart when it happened.” Dwalin fell silent for a long moment. Bofur almost offered to let him stop telling the story when he began speaking again. “The other Dwarves wanted to bury Bungo with the skin-changer, but Thorin refused. He had Bungo burned along with his brother.”

Bofur turned the small carving over in his hand, watching as the shadows from the fire danced along the wood. “What happened to your friend?” he asked. “The one who stayed in the Blue Mountains.”

“He was gone when we got back,” Dwalin said. “Him and all the other skin-changers.” He looked up from where he’d been staring at the fire, his eyes falling on the skin-changer sitting across from them. “They were attacked by Orcs while we were away. All the male skin-changers had gone to Azanulbizar with us. The only ones left behind were the women, children, and my friend.”

Bofur sucked in a sharp breath. If the Dwarves and skin-changers of Erebor had been attacked by Orcs when they were unprotected then it made sense why the skin-changers fled. They would have tried to protect the Dwarves from the attacks but without any actual fighters to help them they would be useless. The skin-changers fled because they couldn’t defend their own. But that didn’t explain all of it. Why wouldn’t they have come back? Why would they have stayed away for so long?

“Ye feel bad because we’re takin’ a skin-changer away from his home,” Dwalin said, pulling Bofur out of his thoughts.

Bofur tore his eyes away from the cheerful little dog in his hands to look at the upset one sitting before them. “Aye,” he said softly. “What if he has family?”

Dwalin snorted. “Then he’ll tell us about them.”

Bofur looked to Dwalin, shocked. “What do you mean by that?”

Dwalin raised an eyebrow. “Ye honestly don’t think we’re just draggin’ a skin-changer back just to prove they’re in the Shire, do ye?” Bofur shrugged helplessly and Dwalin sighed through his nose. “We’re takin’ him back to bond with Thorin.”

Bofur’s mouth dropped open and he stared at Dwalin in open shock. After several moments of struggling, he managed to get his mind back together and said one word, “What?” This time Dwalin groaned.

“This is going to be the first skin-changer in the Blue Mountains,” Dwalin said. “Ye didn’t really think they were goin’ to let it bond with just anyone, did ye?”

“But, I thought Thorin already had one,” Bofur said. “Can’t you only bond with one?”

Dwalin snorted again. “You don’t chose the skin-changer, Bofur, the skin-changer chooses you.”

Bofur turned to look at the skin-changer. Its ears had perked up slightly at hearing their conversation, though it couldn’t understand a single word of it. “Then shouldn’t this one get a choice, then?”

Dwalin fell silent before he eventually spoke in a very soft voice. “It doesn’t get a choice,” he said. “Every year we’ve failed to bring back a skin-changer, and every year out people lose hope. When we bring this one back they’ll expect it to bond with Thorin.” Dwalin straightened up in his seat and voice changed to the one he usually used on the guards. “It doesn’t get a choice on who it gets to bond with. It’s bondin’ with Thorin whether it likes it or not.”

The skin-changer turned its head to look at them, eyeing them in a manner that could be almost described as intelligent. Bofur frowned. How was Thorin going to take an animal who thought like a Dwarf and force it to bond with him? What would happen if the skin-changer refused to bond with him? There people would lose hope and know that both Erebor and the skin-changers were lost to them forever.

Dwalin stood with a groan, his knees popping. Bofur winced, already feeling the ache of a full days walk growing in his own bones. He couldn’t imagine how the skin-changer must be feeling right now, after walking all day with a leg tied up, even if they had switched legs so it could stretch them every once in a while.

“I’m goin’ to bed,” Dwalin said, turning to the bedrolls. “Wake Gloin up when it’s his turn to watch. And Bofur,” he paused, turning to look back at the Dwarf, “Don’t do anythin’ ye’ll regret.”

Bofur swallowed thickly and nodded. Dwalin turned back around and headed for his bedroll, intent on falling straight to sleep. Bofur turned back to stare at the skin-changer. It had returned to staring at the north, giving a soft, long whine every once in a while.

Bofur leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, examining the small carving in his hands. What would happen if the skin-changer mysteriously went missing during the night? What would Thorin say when he found out that they had one and then it escaped? What would the skin-changer think if it got to go back home. Bofur looked up from the carving to the skin-changer staring longingly at the north, towards its home. He turned his head to look west, the direction of his own home. If he let the skin-changer go their people would lose hope. There would be no chance for them to ever get the skin-changers back. But the skin-changer could go back to where it belonged.

Bofur looked back down at the small carving in his hands. He could make it happy, he thought. He could see its eyes brighten for a moment before it turned to flee north. Turning the carving over in his hands, Bofur mulled it over in his head. He could let he skin-changer go and make it happy, or he could bring it home with the rest of the company and give their people hope.

The skin-changer gave one of its soft whines, its head drooping slightly. Bofur’s grip tightened on the carving for a brief moment and he lifted his hand, prepared to hurl the small, wooden dog into the fire. Something stopped him before he could do so, though. The skin-changer had turned its head to look back at him once more and it eyed him with that careful calculating stare. Bofur’s grip tightened and he swore he could hear the wood creaking. The skin-changer looked sad and Bofur could help him by sending him home. But what if Thorin could help him too? What if Thorin managed to bond with the skin-changer and gave it a new home? Bofur slowly lowered his arm, holding the small carving in his lap. Wouldn’t the skin-changer become happy again? Wouldn’t it find a new home? The skin-changer turned its head around to look north once more. Bofur took the small carving of the dog and tucked it carefully into one of his coat pockets. He’d work on something new for his niece later. After all, she loved anything Uncle Bofur gave her. He was sure she wouldn’t mind if he got it to her a little late.

Bofur leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. The skin-changer looked to the north as home right now, but soon he would find he had a new home. Soon, he would look to the Blue Mountains as home. He just needed a little persuasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They were actually supposed to reach the edge of the Shire in this chapter but this happened instead ^.^' Oops. Anyway, I plan for them to reach the edge of the Shire in the next chapter, I promise. And then it's on to the Blue Mountains!
> 
> Now, I unfortunately have an essay to write and a paper plan to work on (I forgot what my step two was :S) so I probably won't be able to post another chapter. Tomorrow is a different story :D Because Thanksgiving Break starts on Wednesday I won't have any homework to do for the rest of the week. Yay! 
> 
> As usual: You write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D


	8. The Lessons of Bilbo Baggins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I managed to write a chapter! Thank you to Bilibob and TeaDragon for your comments. And thank you to Pollux for betaing my chapter and giving me a chapter title. I really need to learn how to come up with my own chapter titles ^.^' Anyway, that's all I really have to say, so I'll let you go to reading the chapter.
> 
> Happy Reading!

**The Lessons of Bilbo Baggins**

The Dwarves continued their seemingly endless march across the Shire after the Sun rose. Bilbo spent the majority of the walk limping alongside the tattooed Dwarf. Dwarves, it seemed, had endless amounts of energy that they managed to expend throughout a whole day. They rarely stopped walking and only ever took a break halfway through the day. And that was just so that they could release Bilbo’s leg and tie up the other one. With every mile the group walked, Bilbo could feel home slipping farther and farther behind. The hope of returning to Bag End was quickly growing into a distant memory. There was very little chance he was ever going to see his home again.

Bofur had grown quiet on their journey across the Shire. Earlier he had always been apologizing to Bilbo whenever he spoke to him, and now it seemed like Bofur had begun to grow distant from him. He’d noticed it after Bofur and the tattooed Dwarf had been talking one night. Bofur had been working on something with a knife when he and the Dwarf started talking. Bilbo had been staring at home that night, ignoring Bofur as he kept watch. He couldn’t help but listen to their words as they spoke, trying to pick up on any words that sounded familiar to what the tattooed Dwarf mumbled while walking. None of it made any sense to him.

They reached the White Downs by sunset on the third day after Bilbo had been kidnapped. The tattooed Dwarf barked orders to the other Dwarves – at least, Bilbo thought he did – and they set up camp between some small hills. Bilbo knew why they did that. Michel Delving was somewhere to the north of them. If they built a fire out in the open, it might attract curious eyes from the north and curious eyes meant someone would come and check it out.

Bilbo half hoped that someone would at least notice the smoke and come to check that out, or send the Shirrifs. If the Shirrifs came, they at least wouldn’t put up with finding Dwarves in the Shire. They’d probably try to chase the Dwarves out and Bilbo could escape during the confusion. Of course, that meant he’d have to try and break the rope first.

The rope. Bilbo glared at said object in disdain. He was starting to hate the amount of rope these Dwarves carried with them. When they weren’t dragging him around on a leash, they were tying him up to a tree or a stake in the ground using a long rope. The Dwarves at least had the courtesy to tie him up on the other side of the fire, giving him a little bit of privacy. Or it could also be because there was a chance Bilbo might bite them in their sleep.

Bilbo tore his eyes away from the rope and laid his head on the ground, staring out toward the east. He knew it was ridiculous, to spend every night staring in the direction of home and wishing he could return to Bag end, but he’d couldn’t help it. Bag End was home. To Bilbo, it didn’t matter where the Dwarves were taking him, Bag End would still be his home. And he would still long for it no matter how far away he was.

Bilbo gave a soft whine at the thought of Bag End. He immediately tried to cut it off as soon as it started.  The whining had started out as a small, innocent habit and had been growing lately. Now it seemed like all he ever did was whine when he thought of home. The Dwarves didn’t pay any attention to it, and for that Bilbo was grateful. They already had him tied up every night and day, they didn’t need to see him at his lowest.

“I bet you’re thinkin’ of home,” a voice said from behind Bilbo.

Bilbo’s head shot up and whipped  around to see who had snuck up behind him. Bofur stood behind Bilbo, a slight smile spreading over his lips. He lifted a hand and gave a small wave, as if greeting Bilbo. Bilbo huffed and turned his head back around, laying it between his paws. He didn’t really feel like listening to Bofur apologize for something he could change but wouldn’t.

The grass swished quietly under Bofur’s boots as he walked around the campfire and settled down beside Bilbo. He sat cross-legged, staring up at the stars while Bilbo stared to the east. They remained that way for a little bit, the both of them resting in the silence of each other’s company. Eventually, Bofur seemed to feel the need to break the silence. First, he turned around, glancing back at the sleeping Dwarves, as if to make sure they were actually all asleep. When he’d made sure they were, Bofur turned back around.

“They’re really not so bad,” Bofur said.

Bilbo’s ears laid back when he heard the Dwarf speak and he refrained from rolling his eyes. If the Dwarf wanted to sit next to him, fine. But if he was going to start talking to him, then Bilbo was liable to bite him. He had the teeth for it, after all.

“The Blue Mountains, I mean,” Bofur said, ignoring the fact that Bilbo’s ears were lying flat on his head and his body had gone tense. Either he didn’t notice he was close enough to be bitten or he simply didn’t care. “It’s a little hard to get used to, when you’ve been livin’ under the stars and hills for so long, but it’s not bad.” Bofur grinned as he remembered something and he turned to look at Bilbo. “I remember what it was like when I first entered the Blue Mountain. They were huge! Of course, I got there some forty or fifty years after they started buildin’ them.”

Bilbo lifted his head and moved it to rest on one of his paws, pointedly staring in the opposite direction of Bofur. He didn’t care about the Blue Mountains, and he didn’t want to hear about them.

Bofur sighed and leaned back, resting his weight on his hands, and stared up at the stars once more. “It just used to be me, Bombur, and Bifur. They’re me cousin and me brother.”

One of Bilbo’s ears twitched slightly in annoyance and he gave a soft growl. He didn’t care. Couldn’t the Dwarf see he didn’t care?

“And then we found the Blue Mountains and Thorin welcomed us in,” Bofur said, continuing the story. “As soon as he found out we didn’t have a home, he welcomed us in. Said he’d be needin’ miners and toymakers sometime.” Bofur grinned at Bilbo. “That’s where Bombur met his wife. They’ve got plenty of kids now, and he’s happy. Bif’s pretty happy too, I think. I never really can tell with him.”

Bilbo lifted his head from his paw and sat up quickly so that he could be level with Bofur. Staring the Dwarf in the eyes, Bilbo let his lip twitch the slightest bit as he released a soft snarl. Bofur sat still, his lips forming a small “o” as Bilbo snarled at him. When the Dwarf remained silent for a long moment, Bilbo settled back down, resting his head between his paws and staring off into the east. Bofur slowly straightened up and Bilbo hoped he’d leave him alone for the rest of the night. After all, he had just given the Dwarf a strong warning about what would happen if he continued.

“He’s not so bad either,” Bofur said softly.

Bilbo’s ears flattened against his head and he growled in response. If Bofur continued talking to him he was going to bite him. Of that he was sure. What part of let sleeping dogs lie didn’t this Dwarf understand?

“I mean Thorin,” Bofur said in the same soft voice. It seemed like he was trying to tread lightly, now that Bilbo had made it clear there was a good chance of being bitten.

Bilbo’s ears perked up at the name. Hadn’t Bofur just said something about him? Normally, he wasn’t one to ignore what people said, but Bofur had been rambling more than saying anything actually interesting. Lifting his head, Bilbo tilted it to the side slightly, curious to hear more about this Thorin character.

“Thorin was the one who settled the Blue Mountains,” Bofur said, staring up at the stars. He didn’t pay any attention to Bilbo watching him with a tilted head. “After his father and grandfather died, Thorin had to take over leading the Dwarves. He managed to find a home for them in the Blue Mountains. They’ve been working on it ever since.”

Bofur tore his eyes away from the stars to look at Bilbo. He probably would have continued telling Bilbo about Thorin and the Blue Mountains if he hadn’t seen Bilbo staring at him with a tilted head. Bofur reacted slowly. At first he only stared at Bilbo before he let out a long snort of what sounded like poorly concealed laughter. Bilbo straightened his head up so he wasn’t tilting it anymore and he narrowed his eyes at the Dwarf. He didn’t see what was so funny.

“I-I’m sorry,” Bofur managed to say from where he was double over, desperately trying to catch his breath. “I just saw you lookin’ at me like that and I couldn’t help it!”

Bilbo released a soft growl at the Dwarf. What else was he supposed to do if he was confused? It wasn’t like he could actually physically ask the Dwarf a question. He didn’t have the necessary functions to do so. Bofur continued to laugh, keeping a fist over his mouth to try and stifle his laughter. Bilbo released another soft growl. He’d appreciate it if the Dwarf would stop laughing.

“I-I’m sorry!” Bofur said again. “But you just look ridiculous like that!” He shoved his fist back over his mouth, desperately trying to keep his laughter down so as to not wake the rest of the Dwarves.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at Bofur. Fine, if the Dwarf wanted to be difficult then so could he. Sitting up, Bilbo leaned over and carefully set his teeth on the back of Bofur’s neck. He made sure not to put any pressure on them. He knew just how sharp his teeth actually were. Bofur stopped laughing almost immediately. He sat stock still, bent over his lap with Bilbo’s teeth resting on the back of his neck. Bilbo waited patiently for him to say something.

“Please let me go,” Bofur said in a meek voice. “I promise I won’t laugh anymore.”

Huffing, Bilbo stepped back and laid back down. He kept his head up, watching Bofur as he sat up and rubbed at the back of his neck. The Dwarf muttered something in his strange tongue. Bilbo tilted his head to the side. What was that language they kept speaking? Bofur was the only one who spoke Weston to him, even though there was a chance the other Dwarves spoke it as well.

Bofur paused in rubbing the back of his neck, he looked to be on the verge of another fit of laughter but he also seemed to remember what Bilbo had just done to him less than a minute ago. Eyeing Bilbo carefully, Bofur spoke the string of words again. Bilbo tilted his head to the other side. What was he saying? It was starting to get annoying.

“It’s Khuzdul,” Bofur said.

Bilbo blinked at him. Did the Dwarf just read his mind? And what was Khuzdul?

“It’s the language we speak,” Bofur went on, unknowingly answering the questions Bilbo’s couldn’t ask. “Dwarves, I mean. No one else speaks it.” Bofur paused then gave Bilbo a sheepish grin. “Except for the skin-changers, of course. They understood it perfectly.”

Bilbo tilted his head back to the other side. What were skin-changers? Bofur stared at him, opening and closing his mouth several times.

“A-Are you askin’ me what a skin-changer is?” Bofur asked.

Bilbo nodded, grateful that the seemingly thick-headed Dwarf could at least understand something. Bofur continued to stare at him in disbelief and Bilbo flattened his ears against his head and narrowed his eyes at the Dwarf. Why was it so shocking that he didn’t know what Bofur was talking about?

Bofur glanced back at the sleeping Dwarves, as if they could help explain it to Bilbo. The only answer he got from his companions were snores and the elderly Dwarf’s occasional mutter. Bofur turned back around to face Bilbo, his shoulders slumping.

“You’re a skin-changer,” Bofur said. He cringed and seemed to be waiting for Bilbo’s reaction to his words.

This time it was Bilbo’s turn to stare at Bofur in disbelief. What did he mean when he said he was a skin-changer? He was a Hobbit. His mother, Belladonna, was a Hobbit. And Bungo, the father he’d never known, was a Hobbit. So, how come Bofur was telling him he was a skin-changer? It didn’t make any sense.

“Hey,” Bofur said, snapping Bilbo out of his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

Bilbo stared at Bofur, still unable to process what the Dwarf had just said to him. He was a Hobbit, not a skin-changer. Bofur began to look slightly uncomfortable with Bilbo’s silence.

“You did know you were a skin-changer didn’t you?” Bofur asked. Slowly, Bilbo shook his head. The Dwarf’s eyes widened. “But – that’s – how?” The Dwarf struggled to come up with any complete sentences, but he finally managed to ask one question. “What did you think you were?” The Dwarf looked to be on the verge of panicking, as if he couldn’t believe that Bilbo didn’t know he was a skin-changer.

If Bilbo could have spoken he would have told him simply, “I’m a Hobbit. What did you expect me to be?” Instead, he had to settle for huffing at the Dwarf’s antics. Why was Bofur so upset that he didn’t know what a skin-changer was?

“Look,” Bofur said quickly, “If someone told you that you were a Hobbit, they were wrong. You’re not a Hobbit, you’re a skin-changer.”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at Bofur. He was a Hobbit. The Baggins side of his family had been more than happy to remind him of that while he was growing up. Any time he asked why he could change into animals and his cousins couldn’t, his aunts and uncles told him not to worry about it. They told him to get himself under control and stop changing. It wasn’t natural.

“Do you understand?” Bofur asked softly. “You’re a skin-changer, not a Hobbit.”

Bilbo released a soft growl and Bofur stretched a hand out, making a soft shushing noise at him, as if he was a child who was fussing.

“Please,” Bofur said. “You’re a skin-changer.” His hand hovered over Bilbo’s head, nearly resting on it.

Bilbo ducked his head out from under Bofur’s hand and snapped at him. Bofur jerked back, startled by his reaction. Bilbo narrowed his eyes at Bofur and gave another soft growl. Bofur remained still, seeming to be unable to decide what to do. He looked like he wanted to continue speaking to Bilbo, telling him he was a skin-changer, but he also looked like he’d rather be on the other side of the campfire right now. Bilbo helped him make his decision. Lunging forward, Bilbo snapped at Bofur again, stopping himself just as it seemed like he would actually collide or bite the Dwarf.

Bofur fell back, giving a startled yelp as he did so. Bilbo lunged again, his teeth snapping a hair’s breadth away from Bofur’s arm. Bofur scrambled back quickly and managed to get his feet before Bilbo could lunge at him again. Making his way around the campfire, Bofur settled down on his bedroll, keeping a close eye on Bilbo.

Bilbo watched as Bofur moved, keeping his ears back and his eyes narrowed. He wanted Bofur to know just how unhappy he was. He didn’t appreciate what the Dwarf had tried to do to him. He was a Hobbit and that was final. He’d been born a Hobbit, He’d lived as a Hobbit, and he’d die as a Hobbit. It didn’t matter what Bofur would try to tell him.

Pacing in a small circle, Bilbo settled down by the campfire to stare out towards the east. Skin-changer. He snorted. Whatever that was. It sounded like something that could take its skin off and put a new one on whenever it pleased. Bilbo paused for a moment, his eyes boring out into the darkness in front of him. He couldn’t be a skin-changer. He was a Hobbit. Wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have finally reached the edge of the Shire! Yay! We're finally on our way to the Blue Mountains! We just have one stop to make before we reach them.
> 
> I'm hoping to be able to post another chapter tonight, but if I don't I'll share my happy and stressful bit of news with you now. I am officially on Thanksgiving Break (yay!) which means no school until next Monday (double yay!), but I work tomorrow and have a Thanksgiving dinner with my family on Thursday. I might be able to post another chapter within the next two days, but that's a big might. It all really depends on whether or not I feel up to writing before work tomorrow and whether or not I'll have time on Thursday. If I'm not able to post, I will see you all on Friday! (Because I don't work that day. There is no way I am working on a Black Friday.)
> 
> As usual: You write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D


	9. The Unfortunate News of Bofur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning all! I managed to write a chapter this morning! Yay! Thanks to Bilibob and teaDragon for your comments and thanks to Pollux for betaing and the chapter name!
> 
> They were supposed to reach the Dwarven camp in this chapter, but after the chapter I wrote last night my muse came up with this one. Why? Why is it taking me so long to get them to the Blue Mountains? *Sigh* Oh well. I guess I'll just have to deal with it and keep writing.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Unfortunate News of Bofur**

Bofur walked in an unusual silence for most of the day, wearing a thoughtful frown any time he glanced at the skin-changer. Dwalin ignored him for the most part. Sometimes Bofur woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and normally that wrong side of the bed meant he wouldn’t go talking everyone’s head off in the morning. So, Dwalin was a little grateful every morning that Bofur woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

It was the skin-changer that was confusing Dwalin. He and Bofur hadn’t needed Gloin’s help to hold the skin-changer still when they tied its leg up this morning. And when they stopped for a break, the skin-changer stood still and allowed Dwalin to remove the belts. Normally, the skin-changer would snap at him and Bofur would have to remove the belts. After their break, Dwalin decided to try and leave the belts off the skin-changer for the first time in three days. He was still glancing down at it every once in a while in amazement.

The skin-changer walked alongside him silently, its head hanging low. It paused every once in while with one paw raised in the air, as if it was about to take a step, and glanced over its shoulder at the receding Shire. Dwalin knew why it did this. It still thought of the Shire as home. It didn’t recognize just what the Dwarves were trying to do, that they were trying to help bring it back home.

Bofur scuffed his boot along the ground, kicking a few stones ahead of himself. The skin-changer’s head jerked up from where it had been staring ahead. Its eyes followed the stones’ trek across the ground before it returned to staring ahead. Dwalin shook his head. He had one normally cheerful Dwarf moping and one normally unruly skin-changer walking easily on a leash. What was happening here? Bofur glanced over at the skin-changer, his frown returning and Dwalin sighed. He might as well try and get to the bottom of this.

“What happened?” Dwalin asked.

Bofur looked up in surprise from where he’d been staring ahead. “What?”

“What happened?” Dwalin repeated. “Ye were just fine yesterday and now ye’re mopin’. What happened?”

Bofur looked back down at the ground and scuffed his boot against the hard packed dirt once more, mumbling something that sounded a lot like, “Nothing happened.” Dwalin groaned and let his head fall back. This was going to be a long day if he couldn’t get to the bottom of this. He glanced over his shoulder at Gloin, who only shrugged. He knew about as much about this as Dwalin did. And Dwalin couldn’t even ask Oin about it. The old coot kept forgetting his trumpet in his pack. Dwalin turned back to Bofur.

“Come on,” Dwalin said. “Spit it out.”

Bofur looked up at him and then shifted his eyes to the skin-changer. This time a guilty look spread across his face and Dwalin fought against the desire to knock Bofur’s head against the nearest tree. Why was he such a hard Dwarf to talk to?

“I talked to it,” Bofur muttered.

Dwalin had to strain to hear the words Bofur said, and even then he nearly missed them. He talked to it. What did that mean? He glanced down at the skin-changer, whose eyes flicked up at him before turning back to the road. Slowly, Dwalin began to realize the deeper meaning behind Bofur’s words. The skin-changer didn’t understand Khuzdul, or at least it didn’t show any sign of understanding the language. It seemed that the only language it had spoken was Westron.

“Do ye mean to say,” Dwalin said through gritted teeth. The skin-changer’s ears flicked back when it heard his voice. “Ye spoke to it in Westron?”

Bofur was silent for a moment before he said a barely audible, “Aye.”

Dwalin couldn’t decide if he still wanted to knock Bofur’s head against a tree of if he wanted to find a cliff and toss him off it. The latter sounded more appealing to him at the moment.

“We don’t talk in Westron to the skin-changers,” Dwalin said slowly, trying to keep the anger out of his voice the best he could. There had to be some good reason Bofur talked to the skin-changer, and if there wasn’t then Dwalin could always just go searching for that cliff.

“I know,” Bofur mumbled, his shoulders slumping. “But it looked lonely.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Dwalin snapped. “What if a Man had heard ye speakin’ Westron to it? He would have found out it understood Westron and he might have stolen it.”

Bofur’s expression changed in a flash. One minute he was moping and the next he turned to Dwalin, an angry look on his face. “It looks like a dog on a leash,” Bofur snapped back. “He wouldn’t even have known it was a skin-changer when he saw it.”

Dwalin paused, actually surprised by Bofur’s outburst. Since when did Bofur get angry? In all the years Dwalin had known him, he’d never once seen Bofur become angry. He was always laughing and talking to somebody, ignoring the fact that not everybody wanted to hear him talking twenty-four-seven. Dwalin opened his mouth to respond, but Gloin cut in before he could.

“That’s not what he meant,” Gloin said in a soothing voice. It sounded like the one he usually used on Gimli when he was trying to get his son to calm down. “Dwalin’s just worried because of what could have happened.”

Bofur’s shoulders slumped and the angry visibly drained from his body. “I know,” he said. “We don’t talk Westron to them because we don’t want others knowin’ they speak it.”

“Aye,” Gloin said. “What do you think would have happened if someone had managed to get their hands on a Dragon? Things would have gone from bad to worse.”

Bofur glanced down at the skin-changer walking alongside Dwalin. He frowned thoughtfully. “Is it even a Dragon?” Bofur asked.

Dwalin’s head jerked away from where he’d been glancing back at Gloin, thanking him silently for ending a fight before it started. “What?”

“Is it a Dragon?” Bofur asked again. “I mean, how can you tell when they’re Dragons? Wouldn’t they actually be a Dragon?”

Dwalin shrugged. “It’s really just a title,” he said. “If they’re born a Dragon then we call them a Dragon. If they’re born a Stag we say they’re a Stag. Ye know how it goes.”

“Aye,” Bofur said. “But it didn’t know what it was.”

Dwalin stopped in his tracks and Gloin ran into him, not expecting him to have stopped. The leash in Dwalin’s hand jerked as the skin-changer was brought to an abrupt halt. It made a little wheezing sound in the back of its throat when its collar was jerked then shook itself off. Gloin stumbled back, muttering a soft curse in Khuzdul.

Dwalin turned to Bofur, who looked slightly nervous about what he’d just said. “What did ye say?” Dwalin asked slowly.

“It didn’t know what it was,” Bofur repeated. “I was talkin’ to it last night and it tried bitin’ me when I told it that it was a skin-changer. “

Dwalin turned to look down at the skin-changer, who had sat down on the ground and was looking at him with a slightly tilted head. It looked as if it was asking him a silent question of why they had stopped. Dwalin frowned. How on earth would a skin-changer grow up not knowing it was a skin-changer? And if its parents had been skin-changers of Erebor then why hadn’t they told it? Wouldn’t it have noticed something off about itself?

Bofur stood in an awkward silence, shifting his weight from foot to foot. When Dwalin showed no sign of speaking, he finally blurted out a question that must have been haunting him since last night. “Why wouldn’t it have known it was a skin-changer?”

Dwalin shook his head, unable to answer the question. From behind him, Gloin spoke in a soft voice, giving his own answer.

“Maybe it was the Hobbits,” Gloin said. “They might have convinced it that it was a Hobbit.”

Dwalin’s grip tightened on the leash until his knuckles turned white. Hobbits. It would make sense that Hobbits would convince a skin-changer that it wasn’t a skin-changer. They were such proper folk who always seemed to want things to remain normal. Dwalin had hated every Hobbit they’d ever captured. They all spoke in the same pompous manner of, “You have no right to kidnap me, now release me.”

The skin-changer tilted its head to the other side, watching Dwalin’s hand. The Dwarf let out a slow, long breath, doing his best to relax. It wouldn’t do anything to get angry at a couple of Hobbits right now. Soon they’d be two days from the Shire and they wouldn’t have to meet them for another year. If Thorin wanted them to continue the search parties, that is.

“What do we do?” Bofur asked in a soft voice.

Dwalin frowned as he tried to think up an answer. They had a skin-changer who didn’t know it was a skin-changer and also didn’t know Khuzdul. What _were_ they supposed to do? It wasn’t like they could exactly just sit the skin-changer down and try talking to it. If anyone happened to hear they might try to take advantage of a skin-changer who knew Westron. And if it really was a Dragon then they’d have twice the mess. Any Man with a Dragon was ten times as dangerous as any man without one.

“We take him to Balin,” Dwalin finally said. “He’ll know what to do.”

“But isn’t he in the mountains?” Bofur asked. “It’ll be days before we reach him.”

Dwalin shook his head. “Balin’s at the camp,” he said. “Thorin decided it would be best to send him to keep things organized.” This time Dwalin nodded his head, sure of the answer he’d managed to come up with. “We take him to Balin and let him sort this out. He’ll know what to do. Until then,” he gave Bofur a pointed look, “No speakin’ to the skin-changer.”

Bofur’s shoulders slumped. “Aye,” he said softly. “No speakin’ to the skin-changer.”

Dwalin nodded. “Right,” he tightened his grip on the leash, “Let’s cover some more ground before the sun starts settin’.”

There was a grumble of “ayes” from Bofur and Gloin, and the group started off once more. Dwalin glanced down at the skin-changer walking along beside him quietly. It didn’t know it was a skin-changer. What where they supposed to do with a skin-changer who didn’t even know what it was?

 

Bilbo plodded along beside the tattooed Dwarf, his head hanging low. Every step he took away from the Shire felt like a mile. Earlier, when he had been in the Shire it had seemed possible to escape. Now that he was out of the Shire it looked like he was never going to see Bag End again. These Dwarves were going to take them to their Blue Mountains and he would never see the Shire again. Bilbo paused and glanced over his shoulder at a spot he could no longer see. The tattooed Dwarf stopped walking, allowing him stare for a minute before he tugged on the leash. Bilbo turned around and began walking again. He wondered what these Blue Mountains would be like. Were they cold and hard inside, like an actual rock, or did the Dwarves actually believe in having at least a couple comforts in their home?

Bilbo glanced up at the tattooed Dwarf and then shifted his eyes to Bofur. He wished he could ask them. The tattooed Dwarf might not want to speak to him but Bofur would at least talk to him. Bofur looked at him, their eyes meeting, and then quickly looked away. If Bilbo could have frowned, he would have. Something seemed off about Bofur today. And the tattooed Dwarf hadn’t sounded too happy when they’d stopped to talk. Bilbo turned his eyes back to the road and shook his head. Dwarves.

As the small group walked on, leaving the Shire further and further behind, they passed by a small grove of trees. Bilbo glanced at them and froze, all four feet planted firmly on the ground. The tattooed Dwarf was jerked back by the leash and he said something that didn’t sound at all nice. Bilbo ignored him, staring at the grove of trees in shock.

One of the trees in the grove was a gnarled, old tree that was bent over far enough that its branches nearly touched the ground. But it wasn’t the tree that caught Bilbo’s attention, it was the creature he saw resting in the tree. Sitting on one of the branches was a large, glossy raven with golden eyes. Bilbo stared at it in shock. He knew that raven and he would have shouted his name if he could have. Instead, he was forced to watch as the raven gave a cry then spread its wings and took to the air. It circled over the group once, giving a second cry, before it turned and headed east, back to the Shire.

Bilbo watched the golden-eyed raven fly away, his head slowly dropping again. He could have helped. He could have turned into an old bull and charged the group, helping Bilbo escape. Instead, he’d flown away, leaving Bilbo trapped with the Dwarves. Why would he do that to him?

The tattooed Dwarf tugged on the leash, muttering something in Khuzdul and Bilbo slowly turned to begin walking again. He continued to walk with his head and tail hanging low. Why had he flown away like that? Why hadn’t he helped him? Bilbo glanced over his shoulder at the retreating form of the raven. Didn’t Hildifons care for his nephew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . wow. Do I leave cliff-hangers much? So, I work the rest of the day, which means I won't be able to post another chapter today. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and that means I have to go to my Aunt's house T.T I love her, I really do, but she drives me nuts! Anyway, if we don't leave until the afternoon like we usually do (if I remember correctly) then I might be able to write a chapter for all of you. Can you guess who might make an appearance in the next chapter?
> 
> As usual: You write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D


	10. The reunion of Dwalin and Balin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I've had about four cups of coffee by now and I'm actually having some trouble typing an author's note because I'm so hyper. So, I'm just going to let you get to reading a story. Even though there are some notes I should probably mention . . . o.O Later, when I'm not hyped up on four cups of caffeine.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Reunion of Dwalin and Balin**

The skin-changer was cowering. Dwalin supposed it made sense, since they had practically the whole camp’s attention on them, but it still didn’t help matters any. If the skin-changer couldn’t handle the stares of thirty or forty Dwarves, Dwalin didn’t know how it was going to handle the stares of a couple hundred. After all, the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains hadn’t seen a skin-changer in half a century, they wouldn’t be able to help but stare at a creature they thought they’d lost forever.

Standing beside Dwalin, Bofur shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking slightly uncomfortable with all the stares. His eyes moved from the Dwarves staring at them, to where Gloin and Oin where talking quietly to each other, and finally to where the skin-changer sat hunched over behind Dwalin’s legs. It looked up at Bofur then quickly averted its eyes, a shiver running through its body.

Dwalin shook his head in disbelief. This skin-changer was not going to survive in the Blue Mountains at all. Bofur looked around himself again, this time shooting his best glare at the Dwarves gathered around their campfires. The Dwarves ignored Bofur’s attempts at glaring them into looking away and they continued to stare, whispering to one another in barely audible voices. Dwalin rolled his eyes. Bofur was too sweet and charismatic of a Dwarf to be able to scare an entire camp of Dwarves. They needed someone who had already instilled fear into them and simply needed to look at the Dwarves to get them to turn away. Dwalin shot a glare at the whispering Dwarves and they fell silent almost immediately, turning back to whatever activity they’d been working on before they’d seen the skin-changer. Bofur turned back around and shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching in on himself slightly. He still looked uncomfortable.

“They don’t need to stare,” Bofur mumbled. “It’s not like they haven’t seen one before.”

Dwalin sighed irritably. All he needed was for Balin to show up so this could end. What he didn’t need was for Bofur to try and strike up a conversation while they waited. It was bad enough several of the Dwarves continued to stare out of the corner of their eyes, Dwalin didn’t need someone trying to start up an awkward conversation as well.

“Give ‘em a break,” Oin said loudly. “They haven’t seen one in fifty years.”

Several Dwarves’ faces turned a bright red and they turned their backs on the group. Bofur gave a snort of laughter he tried, and failed, to hide. Dwalin felt like laughing himself after the Dwarves had all turned away. Trust Oin to state the obvious when others didn’t expect it. Gloin simply stared at his brother.

Oin looked about himself in a rather peaceful state until he noticed his younger brother staring at him. “What?” he asked loudly. “Was it something I said?”

“You’ve been deaf for the last five days,” Gloin said, looking exasperated. “And you hear that?”

Oin lifted a hand to his ear. “What did you say, brother?”

A trickle of laughter ran through the surrounding Dwarves and Gloin threw his hands up in the air. His brother was impossible and everyone knew it. If he didn’t want to hear what you had to say, Oin would simply play deaf until he heard what he wanted to hear. And once that happened, well, Oin would basically shout it for everyone to hear and leave you standing there, embarrassed as you quickly became the center of attention of the whole mountain.

Oin shrugged when Gloin didn’t bother to repeat what he’d said, and his attention drifted away, back to whatever peaceful thoughts he’d been having. Dwalin couldn’t be sure, but he thought Oin might have been dropped on his head a few too many times as a babe. How else would he be able to stare off into the distance with that peaceful expression? Dwalin knew for a fact he didn’t have the attention span to do that.

Bofur looked around himself, beginning to grow bored with standing around, when he spotted someone over Dwalin’s shoulder and brightened up. “There he is!”

Dwalin turned around and grinned when he spotted his older, and shorter, brother walking towards them. “Balin!” he said as Balin drew closer. “I thought ye were out talkin’ to Nali.”

Balin waved a hand dismissively. “Nali can wait,” he said. “I was told you had returned and I had to come see you. He understood why I had to leave him early.”

Dwalin’s grin grew. He could always trust Balin to come and find him as soon as he had arrived, whether it was from a simple week long scouting mission or having to leave for a month to search for skin-changers.

Balin stopped before Dwalin and the skin-changer skittered to the side, getting out of their way just in time. Dwalin placed his hands on Balin’s shoulders and grinned down at his brother. It was good to see him again. Nothing felt like home until he spotted Balin coming to greet him. The brother’s slammed their foreheads together in greeting then pulled back and chuckled, examining each other.

“It’s good to see ye, Brother,” Dwalin said. “I thought Thorin would have called ye back by now.”

Balin looked around at the tents, which had been picketed in orderly rows with campfires placed every couple of tents. He turned back to his brother. “Someone needs to keep these Dwarves in line,” Balin said. “I would have gone back if I hadn’t known that this camp would fall apart without me.”

Dwalin grinned down at his brother, silently agreeing with him. Balin was well known for keeping things in a very neat and orderly fashion. As much as it drove the other Dwarves crazy, they were still thankful someone could keep things under control.

“I was wondering why all the tents were in rows,” Gloin said. “It looked more like a soldier’s camp than a scouting camp.”

There were chuckles from the surrounding Dwarves and murmurs of agreement. Dwarves may have been very good at their crafts, but they weren’t always the best at keeping their camps in an orderly fashion.

Balin chuckled at Gloin’s words. “Aye,” he said. “You’re right about that.” He would have continued speaking, telling them the news of what had been happening in the camp, but a soft whine interrupted him before he could. Balin turned to look at the skin-changer before turning back to his brother. “Is this what I think it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dwalin looked down at the skin-changer who was sitting at his feet, looking at him and Balin like they might be the craziest Dwarves it had ever met. “Aye,” he said. “This is it.”

Balin hummed thoughtfully and knelt down, holding his hand out to the skin-changer with his palm up. “Good morning,” Balin said in a gentle voice.

The skin-changer looked at Balin’s hand then back up at the Dwarf, as if wondering what he wanted from him. Dwalin inwardly cringed. If the skin-changer had been properly raised, it would have understood Khuzdul and known the proper greeting. Instead, it simply looked confused by what it was supposed to do.

Balin frowned and looked up at his brother. “Dwalin?” was all he said.

Dwalin winced. “We need to talk,” he said, then added, “alone.”

Balin nodded and stood up. “I believe you may be right there,” he said. “Come to my tent and we can talk.” He gave a pointed look to Bofur, Gloin, and Oin and added, “Alone.”

“Aye,” Bofur said quickly. “I’ve got someone I need to find, anyway.” He clapped Dwalin on the shoulder and said, “I’ll see you later,” before turning and disappearing between the tents.

Gloin muttered a quick farewell before he too left, dragging his brother after him. Oin loudly asked him where they were going and why they weren’t staying with Dwalin. Gloin didn’t bother answering him, he simply continued to drag his older brother along with him as he made his way through camp.

Dwalin turned Balin. “Well, shall we go to your tent?”

“Aye.” Balin looked down at skin-changer, who looked back at him with its head tilted to the side, as though it was curious about what he was saying. “Let’s get this sorted before it becomes a bigger mess for us to clean up.”

 

Bofur made his way between the tents quickly, peeking into each one and apologizing to any Dwarf he happened to interrupt. His confusion began to grow as his search became more and more fruitless. Where was he? Nori said he’d be hanging around the camp whenever they got back. So, why couldn’t Bofur find him anywhere? Bofur turned around from checking yet another empty tent and nearly shouted in surprise. Instead, he managed to make a small yelping sound that he quickly cut off by clapping a hand over his mouth.

Nori stood before Bofur with a raised eyebrow, looking slightly amused by Bofur’s reaction to finding him sneaking up on him. Bofur scowled at the Dwarf.

“You didn’t have to sneak up on me,” Bofur said. “You could have just tapped me on the shoulder.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Nori asked. He leaned casually against a tent pole, folding his arms over his chest. “I like it better when you scream.”

“I don’t scream!” Bofur said indignantly. “You sneak up on me and I shout. We’ve covered this already.”

Nori rolled his eyes and Bofur thought he heard him mutter, “You scream and you know it.” Bofur would have come up with a retort and argued with Nori, but he noticed something different about the Dwarf before he could.

“What did you do to your hair?” Bofur stared at Nori’s hair. Usually, the Dwarf put it up in the design of a three-pointed star. Today, he’d taken it down and braided his hair in one simple, long braid down his back. Even his beard had been taken out of its usual intricate braids and woven simply.

Nori shrugged. “I can’t exactly have everyone recognize me, can I? Besides, if Dwalin caught me here, he’d have me in a cell before I could blink.”

“Aye,” Bofur said, still staring at Nori’s head. “But it’s still strange to see you without all the braids.”

Nori snapped his fingers in front of Bofur’s face, breaking him out of his trance. “Earth to Bofur!” Nori said.

Bofur tore his eyes away from Nori’s hair and scowled at him. “You know I don’t like it when you do that.”

“Then don’t stare at me,” Nori said, beginning to sound exasperated. It was strange for Bofur to hear Nori becoming this stressed so easily. Normally, Nori was the one stressing everyone out.

“All right, all right.” Bofur held his hands up in mock defense. “No staring anymore, I promise.”

Nori opened his mouth, ready to give Bofur a witty remark, and instead he closed it and his shoulders slumped. He looked up at Bofur with the expression of someone who was exhausted. “Did you find anything?” Nori asked softly.

Bofur’s own shoulders slumped. “No,” he said. “I looked everywhere I could, Nori, but we had to stay in the Shire.”

Nori scrubbed at his face with a hand and Bofur thought he spotted his shoulders shaking slightly. He reached out and gently laid a hand on Nori’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right,” Bofur said. “Thorin’ll send out a search team, I’m sure of it.”

Nori shoved Bofur’s hand off his shoulder, suddenly angry. “Don’t you get it?” he hissed, pushing off from leaning against the tent pole and straightening up. “No one’s seen Ori in six months. Dori’s worried sick and Thorin’s given up. Ori’s not coming home.” Nori took a deep, shuddering breath and he leaned against the tent pole once more, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook as he finally let the first tears slip free. “I just want him to come home.”

Bofur stood next to his friend for a few awkward moments, unsure of what to do. Eventually he tried for consoling Nori. “It’s not your fault,” Bofur said, wrapping an arm gently around Nori’s shoulder. Nori stiffened but he didn’t shove his arm off.

Nori let his hands drop from his face. “I was supposed to keep an eye on him,” he said softly. “I took him to the market with me and I promised Dori I’d keep an eye on him.”

“And you did,” Bofur said. “I was there too, remember? You kept looking over your shoulder and makin’ sure he was still at the stall.” Nori remained silent, miserable as he remembered the day from six months ago. “Neither of us knew he would disappear like that.”

“No,” Nori said. “But I should have been ready. Beardlings were disappearing all over.”

“And we got them back,” Bofur said. “Just like we’ll get Ori back.”

Nori shot Bofur a glare. “Do you really think so?” he snapped. “They found all those beardlings in a couple days. Ori’s been gone for months.”

“That doesn’t mean Thorin’s goin’ to give up,” Bofur said.

Nori snorted. “Yeah, sure.” He shoved off the tent pole and shrugged Bofur’s arm off, turning to disappear between two tents.

“Where are you goin’?” Bofur asked after him, having to raise his voice so that Nori could hear.

Nori paused and looked over his shoulder, glaring at Bofur with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m going to tell Dori that Ori’s not coming home.” Turning back, he walked off, leaving Bofur standing between the tents alone.

“But Thorin’s not givin’ up,” Bofur said softly. “He said so himself, he’s not givin’ up until Ori is found.” But no one was there to hear him and he wandered off between the tents, wondering where Gloin and Oin had gone off to. Perhaps they could help cheer him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still hyped up on caffeine o.O Oh, well. I made the bed, now I get to sleep in it. On to notes!
> 
> This whole Balin and Bilbo discussion is getting to be hard! I wrote a chapter last night but it got really informational and boring so I wound up rewriting it and now I have two more chapters to write before Bilbo gets to the Blue Mountains X( Why is this happening to me?! *Sigh* I blame the coffee. Anyway, Thorin was supposed to have a scene in this chapter but now it has to be pushed back a little bit, and hopefully Bilbo reaches the Blue Mountains soon. If I manage to burn of this caffeine high before I got to a movie tonight, I might be able to write another chapter.
> 
> You write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D


	11. The Meeting of Bilbo Baggins and Ballin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here is another chapter for today. I actually finished around seven o'clock, but Pollux and I went to see Mockingjay, so I didn't get a chance to post it before we went. Oops ^.^' Anyway, I hope you like the chapter and the plot twist ending ;) I certainly had fun writing it.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Meeting of Bilbo Baggins and Balin**

Dwalin stood in the center of the tent, the skin-changer sitting beside him, and waited while Balin finished giving instructions to a raven. His brother spoke in soft tones he could just barely make out, but Dwalin thought he heard him giving instructions for the raven to fly to the Blue Mountains and find Thorin immediately. Even though he couldn’t hear what the message was, Dwalin didn’t doubt it had to do with the skin-changer that was sitting beside him.

Dwalin looked down at the skin-changer. It had its head tilted to the side and it watched Balin converse with the raven. From what Dwalin could tell by the way it stared, the skin-changer probably thought Balin might not be all there in the head. After all, he was speaking to a raven. Dwalin shook his head. If the skin-changer had grown up in the Blue Mountains, raised around Dwarves as it should have been, it would have already known that some Dwarves could speak to the ravens and used them as messengers.

The raven gave a soft croak and spread its wings, rising from its perch to soar out the tent entrance. The skin-changer watched it go then turned its head back to Balin, tilting it to the side. A small smile spread across Dwalin’s face. It looked like the skin-changer was trying to ask them a question without being able to speak a word. The smile slowly slipped from his face. It reminded him of friends he’d rather not think of.

Balin turned from the now empty stand and clasped his hands behind his back. He looked pointedly at his brother until he had his attention. “Now,” Balin said once he had Dwalin’s attention. “Tell me about the skin-changer.”

“It’s blind,” Dwalin said before he could stop himself. His face flushed and he inwardly cursed. He could have at least told Balin about how it had fought them before it was captured. He didn’t want his brother to think they’d brought back a simpleton.

Balin’s eyebrows rose at Dwalin’s words and he looked down at the skin-changer. “Blind?” he said softly. The skin-changer stared back at him, one of its ears twitching when it heard him speak. “How did you find it?”

Dwalin took a deep breath and prepared himself. This was going to be a long story. “We found him on a road in the south, near the woods.”

Balin’s eyebrows rose further. “The south? You were supposed to stay in the north, near the Baraduin.”

Dwalin cringed. “We did,” he said. “And then Bofur let some Hobbits escape and we thought it best to get out before they sent out a search party.”

“So they wouldn’t believe the Hobbtis’ story,” Balin said, nodding. “Best to let the Dwarves become a story until they venture out once more.”

Dwalin nodded, silently agreeing with his brother. He knew Balin would understand why they had left. They needed to give the Hobbits some time to calm down enough to leave their villages. They couldn’t capture them if they spent the entire spring hiding.

“And this one?” Balin nodded his head at the skin-changer. Its ears laid back slightly when he did this. “I presume you caught him in the usual way?”

“Aye.” Dwalin nodded. “We bagged him, tied him, and brought him back to camp.”

Balin pursed his lips, examining the skin-changer silently. The skin-changer stared back at him, its eyes moving up and down as it examined him. Dwalin had the feeling that when the skin-changer finally settled down it would became fast friends with his brother.

“You say he’s blind?” Balin asked. Dwalin nodded silently. “How well did he change?”

Dwalin looked down at the skin-changer and it tilted its head back to look at him, baring just the hint of fang. Still not getting along, then. “Well enough,” Dwalin said. “It didn’t whine or anything. It simply changed and then came charging out.”

“It?” Balin raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know if it’s male or female?”

Dwalin cringed. “It’s not exactly easy to tell,” he said. “We caught what we thought was a male one time and it turned out to be a female in male’s clothing.”

Balin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you check the clothing?” he asked. “You might have at least found some differences there.”

“We burned the clothes,” Dwalin admitted. Balin look at him with an exasperated expression. “We wanted to get out of there before the Hobbits became curious!”

Balin shook his head in disbelief. “Why do you never stop to look for details?” he asked. “Why must you always rush into things?”

Dwalin remained silent and stared at his boots, feeling like a beardling all over again. Despite the fact he was a full grown Dwarf, Balin still managed to make him feel like a beardling just by giving him a look.

Balin sighed. “Did you bother asking it at all?” Dwalin remained silent, waiting for his brother to answer the question himself and begin a lecture. “You didn’t speak to him at all, did you? You dragged him all the way back to camp without telling him anything.” Dwalin continued to remain silent and Balin shook his head. “We are trying to bring them home, Brother, not scare them to death.”

“I know,” Dwalin muttered. “But if someone had heard us talkin’–”

“They would have thought you were talking to a dog,” Balin said patiently. “The Men in these parts don’t know skin-changers very well. They wouldn’t have known you were taking one back to the Blue Mountains, they would have thought you simply had a dog with you.”

“Bofur talked to him,” Dwalin said, hoping to save himself from the rest of the lecture.

Balin raised an eyebrow. “And I expect that’s how you learned he was blind?” Dwalin nodded silently. Balin turned to the skin-changer and sighed. Its ear twitched and its head tilted to the side as it scrutinized him once more. “What did Bofur talk to him about?” Dwalin shrugged helplessly. “You didn’t ask him, did you?”

“No,” Dwalin muttered.

“And why not?” Balin asked. “It couldn’t have hurt to at least know what he told the skin-changer.”

“I wanted to get it back to the mountain,” Dwalin said. “I wasn’t interested in findin’ out what it knew.”

Balin gave his brother an exasperated look once more before shaking his head. “Ever the captain of the guard,” he said, sighing. “I’ll talk to him a bit and see what I can tell him.” He looked down at the skin-changer, who had narrowed its eyes at him. “If it will listen” he added. “Then perhaps we can send him to Thorin with a bit more knowledge.”

“Aye,” Dwalin said, looking down at the skin-changer. It looked up at him before it looked back down and gave a small, growling huff. It seemed to be getting annoyed by being the center of attention.

“All right,” Balin said with a sigh. He held out his hand for the leash. “I’ll take him and talk to him a bit.”

Dwalin hesitated. He knew that Balin would try and talk to the skin-changer, but he also knew that Balin was a kind-hearted Dwarf. If he took the skin-changer off its leash, it might try to escape. He’d already had a hard enough time trying to catch it twice, he didn’t need to have to catch it a third time.

Balin sighed again. “I won’t take him off his leash,” he said. “I know better than to set a shepherd loose when it would rather be home than here.”

Dwalin handed over the leash grudgingly and the skin-changer’s head lifted. It looked between him and Balin. If Dwalin was asked to describe its expression, he would say it looked confused by what was happening.

“Why don’t you wait outside?” Balin asked. “I think I’d like to talk to it alone.”

Dwalin paused and Balin gave a look that said he’d be better off if he didn’t argue with him. “Aye,” Dwalin said. “I’ll be right outside if ye need me.”

“Thank you, Brother.”

Dwalin grunted in response and turned to leave the tent. He heard Balin speak to the skin-changer, switching to Westron so it could understand him. “Now, I do believe we have quite a bit to talk about.”

 

Bilbo watched the tattooed Dwarf leave the tent, confused. Where was he going? He turned his head to look at the Dwarf holding on to his leash. And who was this Dwarf? He’d never seen someone like him before. Actually, he’d never seen anyone like the Dwarves before. They all seemed fascinated with keeping their hair in the strangest braids or coming it so it managed to curve up at the end, like this Dwarf’s beard did. But where was the other Dwarf going? Bilbo leaned forward to try and peer out the tent entrance.

“Now, I do believe we have quite a bit to talk about,” the Dwarf said in Westron.

Bilbo’s head snapped back and he looked at the Dwarf in surprise. So this Dwarf would speak Westron to him as well? That was fine with him. If the Dwarf wanted to tell him a bit about what was happening, he’d listen. And then he’d try and find a way out of this mess.

The Dwarf crouched down to be level with Bilbo and held out a hand with the palm up. “Hello, my name is Balin.”

Bilbo looked at the hand and then up to Balin. What did he want him to do with the hand, shake it? He didn’t exactly have the appendages to do so and he certainly wasn’t going to sniff it if that was what he wanted.

Balin smiled softly, still holding his hand out. “It is considered polite to allow a skin-changer to catch your scent before you talk to them.”

Bilbo gave him a dubious look. As far as skin-changer went in the Shire – which Bilbo was still unsure about, he had been raised as a Hobbit after all – Bilbo had never met a single one who sniffed someone’s hand before speaking to them.

“Think of it like shaking hands,” Balin said. He spoke in a way that made Bilbo think he had experience with having to practice patience, and plenty of it.

Bilbo leaned forward and gingerly sniffed Balin’s hand. He smelled like leather, parchment, and spilled ink. But somewhere underneath all the smells was something else. He didn’t know why, but Bilbo had the strange feeling he could trust this Dwarf. Bilbo leaned back and looked up at Balin, tilting his head to the side. Why could he trust this Dwarf? He was holding onto his leash, after all.

Balin smiled and straightened up, seeming pleased with how Bilbo had done as he said. “Would you care to join me?” Balin motioned to the table and Bilbo followed him over, surprise when Balin pulled a chair out and gestured for him to hop up.

Crouching down, Bilbo managed to leap onto the chair without sliding off or tripping over the arm. Balin settled into a chair across from him and fidgeted with his robes, rearranging them until he had them in the order he wanted. Bilbo waited patiently for him to finish. When he did, Balin cleared his throat and straightened, giving Bilbo a soft smile.

“I trust you’re comfortable?” Balin asked.

Bilbo blinked but slowly nodded his head once. So, this was why he could trust Balin. First, he invited him to sit in a chair and then he asked if he was comfortable, just like a good host ought to. Balin smiled again.

“Good,” Balin said. “I was afraid my brother might have given you a poor idea on how Dwarves behave.”

Bilbo’s head jerked back and he looked between the tent entrance and Balin. Was that tattooed Dwarf Balin’s brother? But how was that possible? The Dwarf had just dragged him half way across the Shire and all the way to this camp. And Balin was the complete opposite! He invited Bilbo to sit in chairs and inquired on how he was doing. How on earth could they be brothers?

Balin chuckled. “Aye,” he said. “Many people ask the same question. I am afraid I do not have an answer for you. Mahal simply gifted us to our parents and let them deal with us.”

Bilbo tilted his head to the side. Who was Mahal? He’d never heard the name before. Balin noticed his reaction and, once again, somehow managed to guess what his unspoken question was.

“Mahal is our creator,” Balin said. “He is the Vala of metal, stone, and craftsmanship. Very few know him by this name. Most know him as Aulë.”

Bilbo’s ears perked up when he heard the Elvish name. He’d heard of that Vala before. The Old Took had said it once while he was telling a story. Bilbo couldn’t remember what the story was, but he was pretty sure there was a prince and a dragon involved in it somewhere.

“Now,” Balin said, pulling Bilbo out of his thoughts. “Why don’t we talk about yourself? I don’t believe I know how to properly address you. Should I call you Master Shepherd or Mistress Shepherd?”

Bilbo stared at Balin, silently panicking and pleading for help. He didn’t know how to answer a question when he couldn’t speak! What did Balin want him to do? Thankfully, the Dwarf seemed to understand his panicked state.

“Mistress Shepherd?” Balin repeated.

Bilbo snorted and shook his head the best he could. It was a bit of a struggle for him, and he might have wound up looking like he was trying to get something off his face. Balin smiled, looking amused.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to call you Master Shepherd.”

Bilbo nodded his head this time, and sincerely hoped Balin didn’t think he was acting strange. When he dared a peek at the Dwarf, he was surprised to find Balin was watching him as if he were actually talking to a person and not a dog. Hobbit, Bilbo corrected himself. He was a Hobbit.

“Well then, Master Shepherd,” Balin said. “Shall we begin our discussion?”

Bilbo paused, unsure of what Balin meant by his words. What did they have to discuss? Why had Balin’s brother kidnapped and dragged him out of the Shire?

“I don’t believe Dwalin bothered to tell you anything, am I correct?” Balin asked. When Bilbo stared at him blankly, he added, “My brother.”

Bilbo looked at the tent entrance again. So, his brother’s name was Dwalin. That made sense. Their names did sound similar. Was that common with Dwarves? Bofur certainly hadn’t mentioned having any siblings with names like his.

“So, he didn’t tell you anything?” Balin asked.

Bilbo jerked slightly as he was startled out of his thoughts but shook his head. No, Dwalin hadn’t bothered to tell him a single thing.

Balin sighed. “My brother was always the one to take action,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s never really thought of pausing to ask questions before he does something, he simply does it.”

Bilbo tilted his head to the side. What did this have to do with him being dragged out of the Shire? Balin smiled at him.

“I do apologize,” Balin said. “I didn’t mean to get sidetracked. Should I start at the beginning for you?”

Bilbo gave his strange nod of the head. It would help quite a bit if Balin started at the beginning. Then he might have a chance of understanding what was happening. Balin leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and lacing his fingers together to hang between the armrests. The leash was looped around his wrist, ensuring that Bilbo couldn’t escape.

“Ever since skin-changers first came to Arda,” Balin began. “We Dwarves have had a very strong relationship with them. Every skin-changer in our mountains was bonded with a Dwarf, someone they knew they could always trust.”

Bilbo tilted his head to the side. Skin-changers – which Bofur said he was – bonded with Dwarves? What did that mean? How did they bond with each other? None of the so-called skin-changers in the Shire were bonded with anyone.

“There was . . . an incident in Erebor,” Balin said. “And we were forced to flee with whichever skin-changers had survived.”

Bilbo blinked. What was Erebor? Was it a place like the Blue Mountains? Those sounded like a settlement in the actual Blue Mountains. Was Erebor a settlement in some mountains as well?

Balin smiled when he noticed Bilbo’s curiosity. “Erebor was a kingdom in the lonely mountain,” he said. “Thror was King under the Mountain there. He commanded the respect for every Dwarf from all seven kingdoms.”

King under the Mountain. Bilbo straightened up in his seat. So, the Dwarves were chased out of Erebor with their skin-changers. But how had they managed to settle in the Blue Mountains? And what did this have to do with him?

“Thorin, the grandson of Thor,” Balin said, continuing on with his story. “Led our people to the Blue Mountains while Thror and Thrain, Thorin’s father, rallied our forces for battle. They sought to reclaim Moria, a lost Dwarvish kingdom in the Misty Mountains.”

Bilbo’s ears laid back against his head. These kinds of stories always included battles and wars, didn’t they? Couldn’t Dwarves understand that they didn’t need to fight all the time? Some people just wanted peace. Maybe they should try settling for that.

“The women and children were left in the Blue Mountains,” Balin said, his voice grew soft and Bilbo thought he heard it crack for a moment. “Dwarves and skin-changers alike. We wouldn’t risk losing the female skin-changers in battle.”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at Balin. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about the Dwarf talking about the skin-changers like they were animals. If he was a skin-changer and they were like him, didn’t they deserve to make their own decisions?

“While we were away,” Balin said and then paused. He took a deep shuddering breath then continued. “Orcs attacked the Blue Mountains. The skin-changers fled because they knew they could not defend the Dwarves. There were far too many children with them.” Balin paused, staring over Bilbo’s shoulder at the tent canvas, as if remembering something. “One of them was pregnant,” he said softly. “Her children would have given our people hope when they needed it most. They would have been powerful and a symbol to all the kingdoms we had not been defeated.”

Balin fell silent and Bilbo tilted his head to the side. What had happened to the skin-changers? What had happened to the one who had been pregnant? He gave a soft whine and reached out, placing a paw on Balin’s knee. Balin looked startled by Bilbo’s reaction but reached out and rested a hand on his paw.

“We believe they fled to the Shire,” Balin said. “After Thorin had managed to settle our people into the Blue Mountains, he began to send out search parties in hopes of finding them. He hoped that if any of the skin-changers of Erebor saw the Dwarves, they would return with them.” Balin sighed, his face growing weary. “We never found them,” he said. “We searched for nearly ten years and we found nothing.” His eyes flicked up to meet Bilbo’s. “Until we found you.”

Bilbo jerked his paw back from Balin’s knee, startled. What did finding skin-changers in the Shire have to do with him? He wasn’t from Erebor, and as far as he knew neither were Belladonna or Bungo. They’d all been born in the Shire, hadn’t they?

“It is our hope,” Balin said, leaning forward slightly. “That when you are taken back to the Blue Mountains, you will bond with Thorin and bring hope back for our people.”

Bilbo tried to shuffle back in the chair more. He managed to back up about half an inch before he ran into the back of the chair. Bond with Thorin? Bring back hope for their people? What did those mean? What if he didn’t want to do any of that?

Balin frowned and Bilbo slowly realized the Dwarf was better at reading people than he first thought. “I’m afraid you don’t exactly have a choice in this,” Balin said. “Under our circumstances we aren’t able to allow it. If we had more skin-changers we might be able to allow Thorin to choose between them, but you are the only one we’ve been able to find in ten years. It is highly unlikely we will find another.”

Highly unlikely they find another. Bilbo looked around the tent frantically. How quickly could he rip the leash out of Balin’s hand? Could he even get past Dwalin once he did? How would all the Dwarves in the camp react when the spotted Bilbo racing through the tents, escaping?

Rough, foreign words reached Bilbo’s ears and he realized that Balin had turned around in his seat and was calling out in Khuzdul. The tent flap swished aside and Dwalin ducked inside. Balin spoke to him quickly and Dwalin sighed, heading over to the pair of them.

Bilbo reacted quickly, lunging over the armrest of the chair. He would have managed to land on all four paws and quite possibly have ripped the leash away from Balin, but the leash was unceremoniously jerked and he found himself slamming down onto his side. Dwalin was on him in second, pinning him down with a knee on his side and holding head in two hands.

Movement caught Bilbo’s attention and he watched as Balin dropped the leash and disappeared, walking out of his field of vision. Bilbo struggled against Dwalin, trying to free his head or wriggle out from under his knee. It was useless, the Dwarf had too strong of a grip on him and held on to him easily. Balin appeared in his field of vision again, fiddling with the cap of a vial. Dwalin’s grip shifted and Bilbo found himself suddenly sitting up, with his body trapped between Dwalin’s knees and an arm wrapped around his neck. Dwalin grabbed his muzzle and pressed on the hinge of his jaws until he was forced to open his mouth.

Balin stepped forward, finally managing to have opened the vial. Bilbo struggled in Dwalin’s grip, trying to free himself, but Dwalin held on to him too tightly. Balin placed a hand on the side of Bilbo’s head and tipped the vials contents into his mouth carefully. As soon as he had finished, Balin tucked the vial into a pocket and quickly forced Bilbo’s mouth closed.

Bilbo tried desperately to free himself from the Dwarves, to get the foul tasting liquid out of his mouth, but both Dwalin and Balin were stronger them. Dwalin released his head, allowing Balin to hold him still, and he began to massage Bilbo’s throat. Little by little, Bilbo could feel the liquid slipping down his throat.

Dwalin and Balin released Bilbo after several moments, though Dwalin still held on to his collar. Bilbo hunched over, his sides heaving as he tried to catch his breath. What had they done to him? What was that liquid they just forced him to drink? And why was the world tipping over? Hands grabbed him under the chin and Bilbo found himself carefully lowered until he was laying on the ground, his chin resting between his paws. He could just barely hear the brothers speaking to each other, and their language was even more garbled than usual. What was happening? A hand ran over his head gently and he thought he heard Balin murmur something that sounded like “home.”

Bilbo didn’t want to call the Blue Mountains home. He wanted to call Bag End home. He just wanted to go home. Slowly, his head tilted to the side and his eyes slid shut. He just wanted to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This is a worse cliff hanger than my last one. Am I an evil author yet? I think I'm an evil author. Especially with this story. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I might be able to post a chapter before work tomorrow, I might not. We'll see what happens.
> 
> You write comments, I write chapter, yes? :D


	12. The Lessons of Fili and Kili

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> You guys deserve more than just one chapter, but unfortunately I have three assignments I need to write. I might have some time later today to write, I'll see what I can do. Until then, I will let you get right into the chapter.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Lessons of Fili and Kili**

Kili sat at the extra table in Balin’s office, resting his cheek against his fist and idly flipping through the pages of a book he was supposed to be reading. He turned the current page over, scanning the runes without actually absorbing them and paused when he came across an image.

A large, white stag stood in the center of a clearing, one hoof lifted as through it was about to dart off. Its head was turned in the opposite direction it stood, its ears pricked as it looked off into the trees. The sunlight filtering through the treetops hit the stag at an angle and gave it an almost ethereal glow. At least, in the painting the stag seemed to glow. In real life it had probably just looked like an ordinary deer.

Snorting, Kili reached under the back of the book and flipped it shut with a loud _thump_. Fili – who sat at Balin’s desk, completely absorbed in the book he was reading – didn’t even look up, he simply flipped the page and continued reading.

Kili made a small sound of annoyance and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at the book sitting on the desk before him. If Balin were here, he would tell Kili that pouting was unfit for a prince, especially a prince of Erebor. But Balin wasn’t here and Kili was stuck inside, reading a boring book, when he could be out hunting with Fili. Kili looked away from the book to Fili – who was still engrossed in his own reading – and then to the door. Frar hadn’t come back in at least half an hour and Kili couldn’t hear any footsteps out in the hallway.

Leaning to the side, Kili tried to catch his brother’s attention, hissing, “Fili!” When Fili ignored him, flipping the page of his book, Kili rolled his eyes. It figured that as soon as Fili was sat down in front of a book, he’d start reading. He always had been the one to do as he was told. “Fili!” Kili hissed again, this time slightly louder.

Fili tore his eyes away from his book and gave Kili a look that said he’d really rather not have his little brother pestering him. “What?”

“Frar’s not here,” Kili said, his voice slightly strained by the excitement he was struggling to keep down.

Fili looked at the door then back to Kili. “So?”

Kili almost rolled his eyes. Did his brother really not get it? “So,” he said. “We can get out of here and go hunting.”

Fili folded his arms and rested them on the desktop, his lips forming a small frown. “He wants us to study, Kili.”

This time Kili did roll his eyes. “Who cares about studying?” he said. “You already know all this stuff and it’s not like I’m going to be king someday. Come on.” He stood up from the table, prepared to drag his brother down to the stables, and turned towards the door. He stopped dead in his tracks before he could even take one step.

Thorin stood in the doorway to Balin’s office, his hands clasped behind his back and an eyebrow raised as though he was waiting for an answer to an unspoken question. Kili remained where he stood, fiddling with the edge of his tunic slightly. Of course Thorin would appear just as they were about to leave. He seemed to have some kind of sixth sense that told him when Fili and Kili were about to do something they weren’t supposed to. Thorin continued to stand and stare at Kili, his eyebrow raising slightly higher.

Turning, Kili slid back into the chair he’d just vacated and stared at the closed book in front of him. Boots scuffed softly against the rug as Thorin approached Kili’s table and stopped beside him, looking down at his nephew.

“Kili,” Thorin said in greeting, his voice even.

Kili continued to stare at the book before him, willing himself not to look up and see the disappointed frown on his uncle’s face. “Thorin,” he mumbled. He clenched his hands into fists in his lap, preparing himself for a scolding. Instead, his uncle remained silent for a moment before speaking.

“What are the four Great Houses?” Thorin asked in a soft voice. He sounded just like Balin when their tutor asked Kili a question he knew the younger Dwarf didn’t have the answer to.

Kili stared at the book sitting before him, his face heating up as he shook his head. Thorin sighed in what must have been disappointment and turned slightly. “Fili?” he said.

Kili didn’t even look up as Fili spoke in a quick but clear voice. “The Stag, the Eagle, the Horse, and the Dragon.”

“And which race does each house belong to?” Thorin asked. In his lap, Kili’s fists clenched tighter. He hated it whenever Fili managed to show off in front of him. It wasn’t his fault he found learning about the four houses boring.

“They don’t belong to anyone,” Fili said. “They choose to remain with the race they were first sent to help.” He lifted up a hand, raising a finger as he listed each one. “The Stag is with the Elves, the Horse with the Men, and the Dragon with the Dwarves.”

“And the Eagles?” Thorin asked. “Which race are they with?”

“None of them,” Fili said. “Oromë sent them as a reminder to all the races that his children are wild and remain with us because they choose to.”

Thorin nodded and looked down at Kili, as if trying to make a point. The heat on Kili’s face grew warmer and he refused to look up. “And can you name the Lesser Houses?” Thorin asked his older nephew.

This time Fili was silent as he frowned, trying to come up with an answer for his uncle. Kili, on the other hand, brightened slightly. He remembered something Balin had said about the Lesser Houses. He turned in his seat, looking up at his uncle with an eager expression.

“The Lesser Houses were formed by members of the Greater Houses,” Kili said quickly. “It happens whenever a skin-changer is born in a different form than their parents.” Thorin watched him quietly as Kili paused for a moment, trying to find something else to say. “And each of those houses continue to remain with the race they parents are with.” He fell silent and looked up at his uncle, hoping he might have been able to show off at least a little bit of his knowledge.

“A house,” Thorin said, keeping his eyes on Kili. “Is formed when the skin-changer born into a new form produces children of the exact same form.” The heat returned to Kili’s face and he spun around in his seat, glaring at the book as though this was all its fault.

Fili spoke up from where he’d been sitting silently, listening to his brother rattle off what little knowledge he had on the Houses. “But what about Beorn?” he asked. “He was born a bear, but he’s not listed as part of the house.”

“Beorn is considered to be the father of his house,” Thorin said. Fili gave his uncle a questioning look and opened his mouth to speak, but Thorin cut him off before he could. “On most trees, Beorn will be listed under the Eagles. That is because his parents were both Eagles. If you look at Grimbeorn, you will see he is listed under his father’s name of the Lesser House of the Bears.”

Fili looked down at his book, his confusion only growing. Thorin moved across the room to stand before him and flipped through several pages before stopping on one. Kili laid on arm on the tabletop and flipped open his book, only half-listening as his uncle spoke.

“Here Beorn is listed under his parents’ names as an Eagle,” Thorin said, pointing at something on the page. “But you can see both the crests of Eagle and the Bear beside his name. This means he is of the House of the Eagle but is recognized as the father to the House of the Bear. Does that make sense?”

Fili nodded slowly. “I think so,” he said. “Beorn is not considered a Bear because both his parents were Eagles, but they still call him the father of the Bear House.”

“Exactly,” Thorin said. “It will be the exact same whenever you look at any Lesser house. The father or mother will never be listed as a part of the house, but they will be recognized for forming it.”

Kili buried his face in his arm and groaned. He did not want to waste his afternoon learning about the different Houses of skin-changers he would probably never meet.

“So, who was the father to the Ravens?” Fili asked.

Kili jerked his head up, uncovering his face, and glared at both his uncle and his brother. “Who cares?” he snapped. “It’s not like we’re ever going to meet them, anyway.” The heat slowly returned to his face when he realized Thorin and Fili were both staring at him.

Thorin pushed off from where he’d been leaning on the desk, so as to see the pages on Fili’s book. Kili looked down at his lap, clenching his hands into tight fists. He knew Thorin would be upset with his outburst. But he would be even more unhappy that his nephew didn’t seem to care about his lessons.

Kili braced himself for the lecture that was about to come. The lecture he’d been given by not only his uncle, but by Balin and his mother as well. Kili could no longer count on all ten fingers the number of times he’d been told he needed to learn about the Houses because of his lineage. About the role the skin-changers had once played in the lives of Eraborean royalty.

Thorin shifted slightly and Kili peeked up, through the fringes of his hair. His uncle had straightened up from where he’d been leaning on the desk, so as to see Fili’s book better, and clasped his hands behind his back. He cleared his throat and began speaking slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

“That’s all about to change,” Thorin said. Kili tilted his head up to fully look at his uncle. Even Fili had looked away from his book, his body tense with anticipation. Thorin took a deep breath and Kili wondered if he was actually seeing his uncle be nervous for the first time in his life.

“I received a raven from Balin this morning,” Thorin went on. “Dwalin and his company are on their way here with a skin-changer.”

“A skin-changer?” Fili repeated softly, his eyes wide.

Kili gripped the edge of the table tight enough that his knuckles had turned white. “A skin-changer?” he said. “They’re bringing a skin-changer here?” Thorin nodded silently and a tremor ran through Kili’s body. A skin-changer was coming to the Blue Mountain, an actual real, live skin-changer. “What kind is it?” he blurted out. “Is it a Horse? Or a Stag?”

Fili, despite his own excitement, rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t be a Horse or a Stag, Fili. Those live with the Men and the Elves. I don’t think they have a bunch of them running around the Shire.”

Kili opened his mouth to shoot a comment back at his brother, but Thorin interrupted them both. “We don’t know what it is,” he said. “All I have been told is that Dwalin will be bringing it here to the Blue Mountains.”

Kili wilted slightly in his seat. So they didn’t even know which House it belonged to? His whole life he had been lectured on always referring to a skin-changer by their house and his uncle didn’t even know which house this one came from?

“When will they get here?” Fili asked, jerking Kili out of his thoughts. His brother had a small frown on his face, as if he didn’t like something about the news.

“They’ll be here in less than two days,” Thorin said. “I expect you two to treat it with as much respect and civility you treat your mother and myself with.” Fili’s frown grew slightly but he remained silent. Thorin glanced between his two nephews, raising an eyebrow as though he expected more of a reaction from them. Kili could only sit back and stare at his uncle. A skin-changer was coming to the Blue Mountains, and not just to visit. This time it would be staying with them.

“Thorin,” Fili said. Thorin turned to his elder nephew, showing he had his full attention. “How exactly is the skin-changer getting here?”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked, his brow creased slightly in confusion.

“Is it coming of its own free will,” Fili said. “Or is it coming all trussed up like a stag shot in the forest?” Kili stared at his brother in shock. Did Fili really just compare the skin-changer to something they would hunt?

Thorin’s shoulders rose with his deep breath and Kili shrank down in his seat slightly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see a row between his uncle and brother today. “Balin did not say how it was coming here,” Thorin said softly. His body had gone tense, as though he expected some kind of outburst from his older nephew.

Fili looked down at the pages of his book and took a deep breath before looking up.   
“Do you mind if I go hunting, Thorin?” he asked. He didn’t give any reason to as why he felt the sudden urge to hunt, but Kili could already guess. He needed to get some fresh air before he started a fight with his uncle.

“Of course not,” Thorin said. He seemed to relax slightly. “Just make sure you be back before dark.”

Murmuring his thanks, Fili stood up from his desk and headed for the door. Kili made to stand up from his own, but Fili shot him a look that said he’d rather be alone. Kili sank back into his chair, watching as his brother left the room, not bothering to shut the door behind himself. He turned back to Thorin.

“What’s wrong with him?” Kili asked.

Thorin shrugged. “It’s not my place to speak for him,” he said. Kili frowned but didn’t argue with him. “Now, isn’t it time you started your studies?”

Kili looked at his uncle, wondering if he was joking. When Thorin only gave him a stern look, he let his head fall down onto his book with a groan. Back to square one, then.

 

Fili stomped through the bush, ignoring a rabbit that shot out and disappeared between a pair of trees. They were bringing a skin-changer to the Blue Mountains. His grip tightened on his bow until his knuckles turned white. They were bringing a skin-changer to the Blue Mountains, and probably against its will. What if it had wanted to stay in the Shire? What if it wanted nothing to do with the Dwarves?

His whole life, Fili had been raised to respect the skin-changers. Thorin, Balin and Dis had all repeatedly told him that skin-changer had their own free will. They weren’t animals you could force to wear a bridle and saddle so that you could ride them. They were creatures who had the same thoughts as they did and could take on forms that looked just like Dwarves. So how could Thorin justify what he was doing to the skin-changer?

Fili gritted his teeth and he placed a boot on a fallen tree, stepping over it and landing on the ground with a soft grunt. Thorin had no right to do this to the skin-changer, but who was Fili to tell him that?

Thundering hooves echoed through the trees and Fili stopped short, looking around himself. Thorin already knew he had gone out hunting, so why would he send a rider out after him? Unless, it wasn’t one of Thorin’s. Reaching back, Fili drew out an arrow slowly and notched it, keeping the bow lowered. If he drew the bow back now, his arm might grow too tired and he could lose his chance at attacking first.

The thundering drew nearer and Fili tugged the arrow back slightly. He whipped around when something exploded out of the trees and drew the arrow back, prepared to fire it. He managed to stop himself when he saw who had come tearing out of the trees.

A sturdy, black pony with wide hooves and a long mane and tail trotted in a large circle around Fili, eyeing him warily. It slowed to a halt in front of him and its rider stared at Fili incredulously.

“Ye weren’t going to shoot me with that, we’re ye?” the rider asked.

Fili looked down at his boots and relaxed his grip on the bow and arrow. “Sorry, Dain,” he muttered. The pony tossed its head and snorted, pawing at the ground as if to say, ‘what about me?’ Fili bit back a grin. “Sorry, Freyja. It won’t happen again.”

Freyja snorted and shook her mane, giving him a stern look that promise pain if he ever tried it again. Dain rolled his eyes and dismounted, patting the pony on the neck. She reached back to nip at him and he shoved her head away. “Knock it off, ye crazy beast,” Dain said. “I’ve had enough of that today.” Freyja snorted and lowered her head to nose at the leaves on the ground.

“What are you doing out here?” Fili asked as he slid the arrow back into the quiver. “I thought you were heading back to the Iron Hills.”

“I was,” Dain said. “But I heard Thorin’s news after ye left and thought it best if I came to find you.” Fili stared at Dain in slight confusion. Why did his cousin feel the need to go searching for him when he should already be heading home? “I knew what ye’d think after Thorin told you the news.”

Fili looked down at the ground and scuffed his boot against the ground. Dain must have heard about what he’d said to Thorin as well, then. Especially if he thought he needed to come all the way out here to find him. “I know I shouldn’t have said that,” Fili said. “About the skin-changer being all tied up like a kill. It was rude of me.”

Dain studied his younger cousin for a moment before he sighed. “I would have said the same thing, laddie.” Fili looked up in surprise. “And then I probably would have punched yer uncle right afterwards.” A grin spread across Fili’s face. Of course he would have. That sounded just like Dain. “But I also understand where Thorin is coming from.”

Fili’s face fell again and he went back to looking down at his boots, fiddling with the bow in his hands. He wasn’t really in the mood to hear a lecture from anyone right now.

“Thorin grew up surrounded by skin-changers,” Dain said. “They were practically family to him. He’s lived nearly sixty years without a single skin-changer in the Blue Mountains. How do you think that makes him feel?”

“Like he’s lost a family member,” Fili said softly.

Dain nodded. “Like he’s lost a family member.” He leaned slightly to the side and reached out, snagging Freyja’s reins just as he took a step toward the trees. Freyja snorted and jerked on the reins but Dain held firm and continued speaking, ignoring the look Freyja was giving him. “He’s searched for ten years and found nothing. Now he hears there’s one heading for the Blue Mountains. How do ye think that makes him feel?”

“Like he’s about to meet someone he thought was dead,” Fili said. Dain nodded in silent agreement and Fili scowled. “But that still doesn’t make up for kidnapping it. What if it doesn’t want to stay here?”

Dain sighed and shoved Freyja’s nose away when he bumped against his shoulder. “I think Thorin will know what to do,” he said. “If the skin-changer refuses to bond with him within the year, he’ll release it.” Fili’s mouth dropped open slightly and he stared at Dain. Thorin would release the skin-changer if it refused to bond with him? Would he really do that? Or would he find some way to force the bond?

“Thorin knows better than to force a bond,” Dain said, as though he’d read Fili’s thoughts. “He let three skin-changers bond with someone else, even when he should have rightfully been given first pick.” Fili stared at Dain, left speechless by what he’d just heard. Dain chuckled. “He never told ye that?” Fili shook his head silently. “Thorin was given three chances to bond with a skin-changer,” Dain said. “But he could see that they already had begun forming bonds with someone else, so he let them go. If this skin-changer doesn’t want to bond with him, he won’t force it.”

“What about Freyja?” Fili asked.

“Freyja?” Dain turned around just in time to see the small pony reaching for him, preparing to sink her teeth into his shoulder. He made a noise of annoyance and shoved her head away, swatting her lightly on the neck. She snorted and jerked her head back, stomping a hoof at Dain. The Dwarf simply ignored her and turned back to Fili. “What about Freyja?”

“Did you ever bond with her?” Fili motioned with the bow at Freyja and she snorted, lowing her head as if pouting.

Dain glanced over his shoulder at Freyja and rolled his eyes. “No,” he said. “I never did. She’s more like a daughter than a partner.”

“Then how come you’re riding her?” Fili asked.

“Because she tries to kill any other pony I’m on,” Dain said. Freyja jerked her head up and made a sound of disagreement, flicking her tail. “Ye do too! Ye nearly bit the head off the last pony I tried to ride.” Freyja narrowed her eyes at Dain and pawed lightly at the ground. “Don’t give me that attitude,” Dain said, folding his arms over his chest. “Or I’ll be telling Signy when we get home.” Freyja lowered her head and looked away, giving a soft snort.

Fili watched the transaction between his cousin and Freyja curiously. He’d never actually seen Dain and Freyja together before. Normally, the skin-changer disappeared as soon as they arrived to the Blue Mountains. Dain rolled his eyes at the antics of Freyja and turned back to Fili.

“I need ye to trust yer uncle on this one, laddie,” Dain said, clapping Fili on the shoulder. “He knows what he’s doing.” Fili nodded silently and step back as Dain walked around to Freyja’s side. The skin-changer watched Dain as he placed his hands on the saddle and prepared to swing up onto her back. She stepped to the side just as he pushed off the ground and Dain nearly fell over. “Come on!” he said. “Ye did that twice this morning. Isn’t that enough?” Freyja nickered what must have been a no because Dain groaned and let his forehead fall against her shoulder. “Ye’re killing me,” he told her. His next words were directed to Fili. “Would ye mind holding her? If ye don’t, she’ll just keep it up.”

Tucking his bow under his arm, Fili took and uncertain step forward and wrapped his fingers around the bridle. He tried to avoid looking into Freyja’s eyes and studied the bridle instead. It wasn’t like any bridle he’d seen before. The bridle had been made out of rope, knotted together tightly to mimic an actual bridle and there was no bit between Freyja’s teeth.

Dain grunted as he settled into the saddle and Fili released Freyja, who stepped back and turned to her lift. Dain immediately tugged lightly on the bridle, turning her in the opposite direction. “I know exactly what ye’re going to do,” Dain growled. “Ye’re going to take us in the wettest direction ye can find.”

Freyja turned innocent eyes on Fili and he chuckled, patting her on the neck. “I think you better listen to him,” he said. “Dain knows what he’s doing.”

Freyja snorted and gave Fili the look of a younger cousin who’d been betrayed but she turned fully toward the direction she’d come from and pawed at the ground.

“I know, I know,” Dain muttered. “Just give me a minute.” He turned slightly in the saddle to look down at his younger cousin. “Promise me ye won’t start any fights with Thorin?”

Fili grinned up at Dain. “Only if you let Freyja pick the path,” he said. Freyja’s ears perked up and she looked at him, lifting a hoof as though to start moving.

Dain stared at Fili in disbelief before he chuckled. “Aye,” he said. “Ye are yer father’s child.” He turned to face ahead and patted Freyja on the neck. “Choose the path, Freyja.”

Giving an excited nicker, Freyja whirled and bolted in the opposite direction she’d been facing. Dain gave a curse at the sudden burst in speed, but managed to stay on. Fili watched them leave with a grin. Freyja always did like running more than walking. It was probably how she’d managed to find him so quickly.

Turning back toward the Blue Mountains, Fili sighed. “He knows what he’s doing,” he muttered, as if to assure himself of the fact. “He knows what he’s doing.”

 

Bofur leaned back against the side of the wagon and ran his fingers through the skin-changer’s fur. The skin-changer paid no attention to him and continued to lay on its side, staring blankly at boards of the wagon. Bofur frowned. He could tell from the skin-changer’s eyes it was completely out of it. Its eyes were glazed over and he made no movement when he ran a hand over his side. Whatever Dwalin had been giving the skin-changer worked pretty well, and Bofur wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

The poor creature had made not struggle when he was lifted in the wagon by Dwalin and Gloin. Dwalin had at least been kind enough to lay the skin-changer down on blankets and place another blanket underneath his head to give him sort of comfort. But by the expression on skin-changer’s face, he didn’t seem to care about anything at the moment.

“How is he doing?” Oin asked from where he walked alongside the wagon. Bofur took his eyes off the skin-changer, keeping one hand resting on the creature’s side.

“He’s quiet,” Bofur said. “I don’t think he’d too bothered by the wagon.”

Oin grunted and went back to staring ahead. “Not going to go well for Thorin, then,” he said.

Bofur turned around fully in his seat. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Oin looked at him, raising an eyebrow, before he seemed to make a decision and sighed. “I’ve been working with skin-changers almost my whole life,” Oin said. “And not once have I seen them react well to a surprise. This one won’t even know where he is until the drug wears off.”

Bofur shot the skin-changer a worried look. Would he really react that badly to waking up at the Blue Mountains? “How do they normally react?” he asked. “Is it bad?”

Oin shrugged. “It depends,” he said. “Some of them just shake their head and growl at you, others choose to bite.”

“What about this one?” Bofur continued to watch the skin-changer as his sides rose slowly with each breath. “Is he a growler or a biter?”

Oin leaned back as if to see the skin-changer better then shrugged again. “We won’t know until we reach the mountain,” he said. “I guess Thorin’s in for a bit of a surprise.”

“It’ll be given time to wake up,” Dwalin grunted from where he sat on the wagon seat, holding the reins to the pair of ponies pulling it. “Thorin will meet it when it’s good and ready.”

“Him,” Bofur muttered. He ducked his head when Dwalin turned around in his seat to look at him. “Balin said it’s a ‘him’ not an ‘it’.” Dwalin turned back around in his seat and said nothing. He simply hunched forward and let the reins dangle loosely from hands.

Bofur looked to Oin but the older Dwarf simply shrugged in reply. Dwalin had been agitated for the last day and a half and neither of them knew why. Turning back around, Bofur leaned back against the side of the wagon and ran his fingers through the skin-changer’s fur again. This time it twitched, as if trying to shrug him off. Bofur sighed and tucked his hands into his lap. Thorin was definitely in for a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they are almost there! I'm really sorry about this chapter being so late for you guys and I feel really bad about it. I should have warned you when I started this story that I am a creative writing major. Shortly after I finished chapter 11, all my writing assignments caught up to me, and then it was finals, and then it was winter break and my life was filled work.   
> I finally managed to get things settled down and I'm pretty open on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. So, hopefully this means more writing for me. Yay!
> 
> Anyway, I need to get to my homework so I will leave you with the usual.
> 
> You write comments, I write chapter, yes? :D


	13. The Return of Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> My hands froze while I was writing this chapter. It's currently 7 degrees out, but it feels like -15 (-26 in Celsius), and my apartment is freezing! Why do I do this to myself? Anyway, without further ado (because that's apparently how you spell it), here is the thirteenth chapter to my story.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Return of Friends**

Thorin followed Frar down the hallway and away from the Council Chamber. Despite the distance they were putting between themselves and the room, Thorin could still hear Loni and Nali’s raised voices and he inwardly grimaced.

Thorin respected Nali not because the Dwarf was a Longbeard, but because he had been one of the many who had fled Erebor and joined the battle at Azanulbizar. Despite losing his two brothers to the battle and having no real victory, Nali retained his loyalty to the royal line. For that, Thorin had granted him a seat on the council.

Loni was a different matter entirely. He was a Broadbeam and had lived in the Blue Mountains long before the Dwarves of Erebor had joined him. The small group of Dwarves Loni led had begun digging the very halls Thorin now lived in, and the only reason Loni had welcomed the Dwarves of Erebor had been for profit, not that he’d seen any. Thorin showed no interest in mining the Blue Mountains for riches. Any form of metal they managed to find was forged into something they could use themselves or sell to the Men.

When Balin had first mentioned creating a council to help advise the king, Loni had demanded that two of the seats be set aside for Broadbeams. He claimed that he wanted his people to have proper representation in all the meetings. So far Loni had done little but argue with Nali about how Thorin had chosen to rule the Blue Mountains. Most of the council meetings had dissolved into arguments between the two Dwarves and Thorin found himself still making decisions on his own without the advice of the council.

Frar stopped outside a pair of tall, wooden doors. Metal pieces had been laid across the front and back of the doors, Khuzdul runes welded into the metal to create a simple yet intricate design. Turning, Frar bowed low to Thorin and gestured to the doors with a murmured, “Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Frar,” Thorin said, trying to keep his smile hidden. It still surprised him how many of the Dwarves treated him like an actual king when he had practically nothing to his name. “That will be all.”

Frar gave another bow, this time smaller, and turned, heading down the hallway. Thorin watched him go until he had disappeared around the corner. Turning to the doors, he took a deep breath in and, placing a hand on either door, pushed them open. The doors swung open with a barely audible creaking sound despite their age.

Thorin stepped into the King’s Chamber and frowned. Dwalin stood at the foot of the dais, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes scanning the tapestries hanging on the wall. There was no one else with him.

Dwalin turned around at the sound of the doors opening and he broke out into a grin. “Thorin.”

Thorin returned the grin, striding through the doorway and up to his friend. He clapped Dwalin on the shoulder. “Dwalin,” he said in greeting. He looked around the room, taking in the emptiness of it. “I would have thought there would be someone else with you.”

Dwalin leaned to the side slightly, glancing at the open doorway before he straightened up again. “I left him in your apartments,” he said in a low voice. “I thought it would be best for him to meet you before the whole mountain found out.”

Thorin nodded silently. That would make sense. As soon as the whole mountain found out a skin-changer had been brought back from the Shire, they would all become excited. Everyone would want to meet him and the poor creature would probably become overwhelmed and panic.

 It still left him at an impasse, though. On the one hand, Thorin wished Dwalin had kept the skin-changer with him so that Thorin could have met him right away. On the other hand, Thorin understood why Dwalin chose to leave the skin-changer in Thorin’s chambers.

“Well?” Dwalin said. Thorin jerked slightly and stared at him. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Dwalin speaking until now. “Ye look like a beardlin’ about to get his first weapon.” Thorin glared at him for that and Dwalin just grinned. “Do ye want to meet him or not.”

Thorin turned his back on Dwalin and headed for the doorway, muttering, “I do not.”

Dwalin only laughed as he caught up to Thorin, slowing down and walking beside him leisurely. Thorin tried to keep the same pace as Dwalin. He didn’t need his friend to tease him for a month about acting like a beardling when he met the skin-changer. The Dwarves walked in relative silence, passing under the calculating eyes of their ancestors on the tapestries. Thorin looked straight ahead and refused to look up when he passed under a tapestry of Durin the First standing at the gate of Khazad-Dûm, a large, red dragon resting on the ground behind him.

“Are Nali and Loni at it again?” Dwalin asked.

“Aye,” Thorin muttered. “Loni asked if sending Dwarves to search the Shire was actually a good idea and Nali nearly tore him apart.” Thorin clasped his hands behind his back and frowned, staring at the ground before his feet. After ten years of sending out the search parties, even Thorin had begun to wonder if Loni had a point.

“Loni’s wrong, Thorin,” Dwalin said. He and Thorin had had several conversations on the topic before.

“We’ve been searching for ten years,” Thorin muttered.

“And now we have one,” Dwalin said, finishing Thorin’s sentence. “That’s better than none, isn’t it?”

Thorin finally looked up from the ground, eyeing Dwalin. “Ten years of searching and we have one skin-changer?” he asked. “How does that not help to prove Loni’s point?”

Dwalin shrugged. “Because there’s something about this one.” Thorin gave him a quizzical look and he continued. “When we first caught the skin-changer, we left him tied up away from us like we usually do. Do you know what he did?” Thorin shook his head silently. “He transformed without a peep.”

Thorin’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean –“

“He didn’t whine or anythin’,” Dwalin said. “He simply transformed into a dog and made his move.” Dwalin paused then said, as if as an afterthought, “He’s young, too. Can’t be more than fifty.”

Thorin sucked in a breath and turned to look forward. Most young skin-changer’s struggled to change. It was a painful process that left them writhing on the ground and whining. To have a skin-changer of that age, who could transform flawlessly without making a sound, that was a rarity.

“Bungo had unborn offsprin’,” Dwalin said, and left the sentence hanging, as if hinting at something Thorin wouldn’t have thought of.

“You think they were born in the Shire,” Thorin said softly, and Dwalin nodded.

“Bungo was a direct descendent,” Dwalin went on. “Any one of his offsprin’ would have shared his ability. Ye saw what he could do.”

“A direct descendent.” Thorin looked to Dwalin. “Dwalin, if we have a direct descendent in these halls.”

Dwalin nodded. “We could take back Erebor. The Orcs wouldn’t stand a chance against us.”

Thorin stopped in his tracks and stared ahead at nothing. They might have a direct descendent in these very halls. Nothing, not even Morgoth, could stand up against one of them. And with Erebor reclaimed, they could focus on ensuring the line continued. The house of Durin would become strong again, and the Dwarves would regain all the hope they had lost.

Dwalin clapped Thorin on the shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go meet yer skin-changer.”

Thorin nodded silently – he seemed to have lost all use of his voice – and they started off again. They continued in relative silence as Thorin struggled to gather his thoughts an Dwalin hummed a drinking song under his breath.

Finally, Thorin managed to find his words. “What is he like?” he asked in a soft voice. Dwalin’s humming cut off and he looked over at Thorin, an eyebrow raised in question. “The skin-changer,” Thorin said. “What is he like?”

Dwalin was silent for a moment, then he spoke. “I don’t know what to tell ye,” he said. “He fought us for a while, stopped when we reached the edge of the Shire, then picked it up again after speaking with Balin.” Thorin gave him a sharp look and Dwalin corrected himself. “Listened to Balin,” he said. “Balin’s not stupid enough to let a skin-changer a chance to change shape.”

“Too easy for them to fly away,” Thorin murmured. Dwalin nodded in agreement. “What happened after that?”

Dwalin grimaced. “We drugged him,” he said.

Thorin stopped in his tracks and spun to face Dwalin, who stepped back, slightly surprised by the vehemence on Thorin’s face. “You what?” Thorin all but snarled.

Dwalin glanced around the hallway, as if looking to see if anyone was coming, then turned back to Thorin. “We drugged him,” he repeated. “It was either that or lock him in a cage. He was pretty close to bitin’.”

“I could care less if he’d bitten you,” Thorin said. He struggled to keep from shouting. “What do you think is going to happen when he wakes up? The first thing he’s going to do is attack someone.”

“Not if he’s calm,” Dwalin said, cutting Thorin off. “If we get there before he wakes up, you can talk to him, keep him calm.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Thorin asked through gritted teeth. “I haven’t exactly had the experience of dealing with an upset skin-changer.”

“When I had Hil-,” Dwalin paused, then took a deep breath. His voice sounded strained as he continued. “When Hildifons was still with me, he used to love bein’ petted. Anytime he saw me sitting down, he would charge over and shove his head in my lap.”

Thorin remained silent, tactfully ignoring the pain he saw in Dwalin’s eyes. Dwalin took another deep breath and looked up at Thorin. He seemed grateful that his friend made a point not to pay attention to his feelings.

“They like bein’ petted,” Dwalin said. “They find it soothin’, or somethin’.”

“Or something,” Thorin muttered. He turned and began walking down the hallway again. Dwalin wasn’t wrong about the skin-changers loving to be petted. Thorin could remember when Frerin would lay on the ground to try and relax, and Bungo would pounce on him. Frerin would shout and try to shove the skin-changer off himself, but to no avail. Bungo wouldn’t stop until He’d gotten a decent petting out of it, and then he’d lunge for Thorin next. But Thorin wasn’t sure if he wanted to try petting the skin-changer currently lying in a drugged sleep in Thorin’s chambers. It was very likely the skin-changer would decide to sink his teeth into Thorin first, before going for Dwalin.

“He’s just a little shocked, Thorin.” Dwalin sped up slightly to catch up with him. “Ye just need to work with him a bit. He’ll understand.”

“Will he?” Thorin asked. Dwalin made a questioning noise in the back of his throat. “After you’ve dragged him all the way from the Shire, do you really think he’ll understand?”

Dwalin shrugged. “He’s goin’ to have to,” he said. “It’s not like he’s goin’ to be able to walk out of the mountain on his own.”

Thorin sighed and scrubbed at his face. “How much of the drug did you give him?” he asked.

Dwalin shrugged again. “Enough to knock him out for most of the day. He should be comin’ around soon. We get there in time, ye can keep him calm before he bites anyone.”

Thorin glanced at Dwalin out of the corner of his eye. “You’re just hoping he sinks his teeth into me first.”

Dwalin didn’t bother to hide his grin. “That too.”

 

Kili was moping again. He had lost all three skirmishes against Fili, and, since Dwalin wasn’t there to administer it, Fili had given his brother the lecture on how to always watch you’re back. Kili had thrown his wooden sword at Fili’s head and missed. Fili had raised an eyebrow at him and commented that he would expect an archer to have better aim. Naturally, Kili had pounced on his brother and they had descended into a wrestling match. Kili had lost that too.

Fili flipped his practice sword in the air and deftly caught it by the handle. He ignored his little brother scuffing at the ground with his boots and scowling. “Dwalin always says to watch your back, Kili,” Fili said. “And yet you never seem to learn.”

Kili’s head jerked up and he turned his scowl on his brother. “I do too!” he said. “You just keep cheating.”

Fili paused in the act of flipping his sword again and stopped walking. “I did not.”

“You did too.” Kili jabbed a finger into his chest. “You tripped me with your sword.”

Fili shrugged. “That’s what opponent do,” he said. “You can’t expect everyone to be chivalrous to young maidens like yourself.”

Kili’s face flushed red and his hands clenched into fists. “Stop calling me a young maiden.”

“Then stop acting like one,” Fili said. He tossed the sword up into the air and caught it.

The flush on Kili’s face grew darker. “You’re the only one who does that,” he said.

“Does what?” Fili looked away from tossing the sword in the air and he felt the wooden handle land smoothly in his palm. Kili only looked more infuriated.

“Trip me,” Kili said through gritted teeth. “Thorin and Dwalin don’t trip me up.”

“Of course they don’t,” Fili said. He turned back to flipping the sword. “They just beat you up.” Fili jerked to the side when Kili slammed into him and landed on the ground, hard. Holding his arms up in front of his face, Fili laughed as Kili rained punches down on him. “Is that all you’ve got?” he said. “It’s now wonder Thorin and Dwalin always take you down so quickly.”

“Stop saying that!” Kili raised a fist and prepared to bring it down on Fili’s arms.

Fili reacted before he could. Hooking a foot over Kili’s leg, Fili surged upward and flipped them over, straddling his younger brother. Kili struggled beneath him but Fili only grinned, folding his arms over his chest. “Well?” he said.

Kili paused in struggling. “Well what?” he snapped.

Fili’s grin grew. “You know what to say.”

The flush returned to Kili’s cheeks and he resumed his struggles, trying to punch Fili in any area he could reach. Fili only leaned out of arm’s length. “I’m not going to say it!” Kili snarled. “Get off me.”

“Not until you say it,” Fili said. “Now, be a good little brother and say the words.”

Kili fell still, glaring up at Fili and breathing heavily. Fili continued to grin down at him. Finally, looking away from Fili, Kili muttered, “Fili is the best big brother anyone could have.”

Fili leaned down slightly. “What was that?” he asked. “I couldn’t hear you.”

Kili’s flush grew. “Fili is the best big brother anyone could have,” he repeated, this time slightly louder.

Fili was tempted to make Kili say it again, just to tease him. Instead, he rolled off the side and stood up, bending down to pick up his sword. “See?” he said. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Kili stood up from the ground and dusted himself off, muttering about annoying older brothers. Fili ignored his younger brother and started off again, swinging his sword in circles. He wanted to get back to the chambers and get cleaned off as soon as possible. After spending half the morning practicing with Kili, Fili was pretty sure he smelled like a troll. They both did.

“It’s not fair,” Kili mumbled when he caught up.

Fili paused in swinging his sword. “What’s not fair?”

“You always beat me at everything,” Kili said.

“Not in archery.” Fili resumed swinging the sword around in circles. Dwalin always rolled his eyes when he did that and said that one day Fili was going to end up losing his grip and the sword would go flying. Fili would always grin back at him and swing the sword again, just to annoy him.

Kili shot his brother a glare. “You never even learned archery,” he shot back.

Fili shrugged. “So? You’re still better at it.” Kili continued to glare at the ground and scuffed his boots as he walked. Fili rolled his eyes. “Bet you can’t beat me to the apartments.”

Kili gave Fili one look and took off. “Bet I can!”

Fili watched Kili run with a grin. He’d give him a ten second head start, maybe even twenty, and let him win. Kili would berate him for losing on purpose, but it would also cheer him up a bit.

“Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.” Fili stopped spinning the sword and took off after his brother. Thorin hated it when they came charging into the apartments like they usually did, but he wasn’t there this time. So Fili didn’t think Thorin would mind all that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally reached the mountain. Yay! I don't have anything else to do the rest of the night and I am really looking forward to the next chapter. Hopefully, I'll be able to get it written pretty soon. I just realized earlier this week that I gave skin-changers from Erebor names from the Shire. Oops ^.^' Let's just call it a coincidence, yes?
> 
> Until the next chapter: You write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D


	14. The Unfortunate Introduction of Bilbo Baggins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I really need to get a set schedule going for writing, and if school would like to cooperate, I would appreciate that too. This week has been pretty crazy for me. I'm part of a literary magazine on campus and submissions were due on Sunday. So, I spent a good hour last night looking over art and rating it (I know practically nothing on art, but the editor wanted some writers to be on the Art Committee because last years edition had all the same color art) and I still need to read the essays and poems :P But I managed to write a lovely chapter for you, my lovely readers! So, I'll let you get right to it.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Unfortunate Introduction of Bilbo Baggins**

Bilbo’s head was clear for the first time in days. He could barely remember anything that had happened over the past couple days, and what little he could remember was filled with Dwalin coaxing him into drinking more the serum. Bilbo’s mind was always too muddled at those times for him to even think about fighting the Dwarf, and he would simply sink back into his sleepy state, ignorant to what was happening around him.

Slowly, Bilbo managed to pry his eyes open and he blinked. Someone had laid him out on his side on the rug in the center of a small room. His head rested on a pillow that, when he lifted his head, he saw was a dark blue with an embroidered dragon in the center. Lifting his head, Bilbo looked around the room. The walls were made of stone, as if someone had carved this room out of rock, and tapestries hung on them. Each tapestry had a different design, but the one that caught Bilbo’s attention was a dark blue one with a silver tree and seven stars hanging over it.

Bilbo shifted his weight so that he was laying on his stomach rather than his side. Looking around, he took in more of the room. He was laying right between a couch and two chair that had been set up to face each other. Behind him was a currently stone cold fireplace. A small hallway led out of the room and three doors sat open invitingly. Bilbo hoped for a moment that one of the doors might lead to a possible escape route, but then he looked at the fourth closed door set into the wall on the other side of the room. With his luck at the moment that was probably the door that led to his freedom.

Huffing, Bilbo laid his head on the floor then paused. A patch of sunlight illuminated the patch of rug right in front of his nose. Looking up, Bilbo followed the sunlight and blinked. Glass windows had been set into high ceiling, allowing the natural light to fill up the room. Bilbo stood up carefully and, stumbling, moved to stand in the sunlight. Bofur had said they were taking him to a mountain, but how come there was sunlight shining into a room that was supposedly built into a mountain? Wouldn’t the Dwarves have just made it easier on themselves and left the room in a dismal darkness? Bilbo sat down and tilted his head to the side, still staring at the window. These Dwarves were making less and less sense to him.

Bilbo continued to stare at the window, and was so entranced with the sunlight coming into the room that he didn’t notice the sound boots pounding against the stone until the door suddenly slammed open. Bilbo reacted faster than he could have thought. Leaping to his feet, Bilbo prepared to bolt but a wave of dizziness went through his head – a left over from the drug, no doubt, and he fell over onto his side, staring at the wall in front of him in shock. He remained that way for a minute, staring at the wall and struggling to calm his racing heart, and listened to the sound of the intruder breathing heavily.

Slowly, Bilbo shifted his head to look behind himself at the intruder. A young Dwarf – at least he looked young, Bilbo couldn’t exactly tell – stood in the doorway, breathing heavily and staring at Bilbo. The front part of the Dwarf’s dark hair had been pulled back and clasped behind his head, but several strands had escaped and now hung down to his chin. His eyes were a bright blue and had a look of both curiosity and mischief in them.

Bilbo’s ears laid back against his head. He’d never really liked fauntlings with the same look as the Dwarf now standing in the room. They were exhausting and they normally demanded to play even after you had become too tired to stand. The Dwarf continued to breathe heavily – his dark blue tunic and trousers stained with sweat – and stare at Bilbo, as though he’d never seen a dog in his room before.

Bilbo struggled to sit up and turned to face the Dwarf, fixing him with his best glare. He would appreciate it if the Dwarf would stop staring at him like that, it was getting rather obnoxious. The Dwarf continued to stare and Bilbo looked away, huffing at the wall. He was going to bite this Dwarf very soon if he didn’t stop staring.

The Dwarf jerked out of his stupor when the sound of a second pair of boots pounding against stone drew closer to the room. Bilbo looked to the doorway and tilted his head to the side. Now who was coming?

A second Dwarf appeared in the doorway behind the first Dwarf and Bilbo groaned. Just what he needed, another Dwarf. This one looked different than the first Dwarf, though. Instead of dark hair, he had blond hair that had been put up in a similar fashion to the first Dwarf and his mustache had been grown long and braided. He stood slightly taller than the first Dwarf and his eyes were darker and more serious.

The dark-haired Dwarf turned to the blond on and said something in Khuzdul. Bilbo huffed and stood up, turning around in his spot and laying down with his back to the Dwarves. He’d had enough of their silly language. Why couldn’t any of them bother speaking in Westron? The blond Dwarf responded to the dark-haired Dwarf. His voice was slightly deeper than the dark-haired one’s and he spoke in a sharp, clipped tone.

Bilbo continued to ignore the Dwarves until he heard the soft shuffling of boots on the rug and the sound of the door shutting quietly. His head jerked up and he whipped around to stare at the Dwarves, who stood frozen, staring back at him. The blond Dwarf stood in front of the door, one hand resting on it from where he’d pushed it shut. Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the Dwarf. He could have slipped past the Dwarves when they had gotten into a deeper discussion – they both seemed young and foolish enough to leave the door open – instead, the blond Dwarf had to go and be responsible.

The dark-haired Dwarf stepped closer to Bilbo and said something, gesturing widely. Bilbo surged to his feet and backed up a few steps. He didn’t like this one. He’d seen Hobbits with the same kind of energy and it had never ended well for him. The blond Dwarf said something to the dark-haired Dwarf, but the dark-haired Dwarf ignored him, stepping closer to Bilbo.

Bilbo backed up again and lowered himself slightly, pulling his lips back just enough to show a hint of fang and releasing a soft growl. The dark-haired Dwarf didn’t seem to notice as he turned to the blond Dwarf, speaking loudly and gesturing at Bilbo. The blond Dwarf looked between his friend and Bilbo and said something, gesturing for the other Dwarf to come closer to him.

The dark-haired Dwarf ignored what the blond Dwarf had said to him and he turned back to Bilbo, saying something to him. Bilbo released another soft growl and back up a step. He did _not_ want to be in the same room as either of these Dwarves. The dark-haired one looked like he could cause all sort of trouble, and the blond Dwarf did look an awful lot like him. And if they happened to be brothers, Bilbo didn’t doubt they’d be accomplices as well. The dark-haired Dwarf spoke and gestured again, swinging an arm at Bilbo.

Bilbo moved before he could actually think it all through. Releasing a snarl, he lunged at the dark-haired Dwarf’s arm and snapped, his teeth coming together an audible click. The Dwarf stumbled back from him, shouting and Bilbo lunged at him a second time, snapping at his arm.

The dark-haired Dwarf backed away from Bilbo, staring at him with wide eyes, and Bilbo followed slowly, keeping his head low and releasing a soft growl. He’d had enough of dealing with Dwarves for the time being and if these two didn’t leave him alone, then there would be consequences. The dark-haired Dwarf’s eyes flicked up and Bilbo had a moment to pause before something heavy landed on his back and arms wrapped around his body and neck.

Bilbo snarled and twisted his head to snap at the blond Dwarf’s head. The Dwarf cringed and jerked his head back slightly, but he didn’t release Bilbo. Instead, he only tightened his grip as Bilbo continued to try biting at the arm wrapped around his neck. He could reach down far enough to snap at the arm wrapped around his stomach.

The dark-haired Dwarf shouted and started forward, grabbing Bilbo’s collar as if to hold him still. He didn’t have a chance to notice his mistake until Bilbo, with a snarl, sank his teeth into the young Dwarf’s arm. The dark-haired Dwarf shouted and, releasing Bilbo’s collar, he jerked back, but Bilbo held fast. He wasn’t about to let the Dwarf get away from him that easily.

The arms wrapped around Bilbo’s stomach and neck disappeared, and the blond Dwarf grabbed Bilbo’s muzzle. With one hand on Bilbo’s upper jaw and his other hand on the lower jaw, the blond Dwarf tried to pry Bilbo’s jaw open. Bilbo released a snarl and tightened his grip, shifting it slightly. The dark-haired Dwarf cried out and struggled against Bilbo uselessly, lifting a hand as if to strike Bilbo. Bilbo released a second snarl and kept his eyes trained on the Dwarf’s arm.

The blond Dwarf surged to his feet and grabbed the dark-haired Dwarf’s arm, stopping him. The blond Dwarf spoke quickly, looking between the dark-haired Dwarf and Bilbo, and the dark-haired Dwarf took a shaky breath in and nodded slowly, lowering his arm. Taking a deep breath, the blond Dwarf kneeled down beside Bilbo and reached out. Bilbo jerked away from his hands, prepared to tighten his grip again, and the Dwarf paused before continuing to reach out. His hands settled down on Bilbo, one on top of his head and the other on his chin.

“Come on,” the blond Dwarf said softly and Bilbo froze in place, staring at him. The blond Dwarf ran his hand over the top of Bilbo’s head, smoothing down his fur and lifting his hand to repeat the process. The dark-haired Dwarf remained still, watching them silently. “Just let go.”

Bilbo kept his grip tight on the dark-haired Dwarf’s arm but remained still. The blond Dwarf continued to smooth his fur down, murmuring soft words in Westron. “I know you’re scared, but it’s going to be okay. Just let him go.” The Dwarf began to run his other hand under Bilbo’s chin and down his neck. “Come on, just let him go.”

Bilbo shifted his weight slightly from side to side and the Dwarf hummed, continuing to stroke his fur softly. The dark-haired Dwarf watched them and made a surprised sound when Bilbo loosened his grip slightly. The Dwarf moved his arm and the blond Dwarf snapped at him quickly in Khuzdul, shifting back to Westron just as fast and returning to speaking soft words to Bilbo.

“Come on.” The blond Dwarf stopped stroking Bilbo’s fur and he wrapped a gentle hand around Bilbo’s muzzle. “Just let him go.” He tugged gently on Bilbo’s muzzle and Bilbo relented, allowing the Dwarf to coax him into releasing the dark-haired Dwarf’s arm.

The dark-haired Dwarf jerked his arm back and he backed away quickly, holding his arm to his chest. Bilbo could have lunged at him a second time, startled by the Dwarf’s movement, but the blond Dwarf had released his muzzle and was running both his hands over Bilbo’s head, smoothing his fur back.

“There we go,” the Dwarf murmured. His hands stilled when he was sure Bilbo wasn’t going to attack again and he lifted them up, setting them in his lap.

Bilbo blinked sleepily then nuzzled at the Dwarf’s hands. He didn’t know why, but he rather liked being petted. It was soothing. The Dwarf chuckled and reached out, running a hand over Bilbo’s head. Bilbo released a soft whine, laying his ears back. Continuing to stroke Bilbo’s fur, the blond Dwarf turned and said something in Khuzdul to the dark-haired Dwarf.

The dark-haired Dwarf looked between Bilbo and the blond Dwarf, looking fearful. He moved forward slowly and kneeled beside the blond Dwarf. Reaching out with his good arm, the Dwarf ran a hand over Bilbo’s head. Bilbo froze when the dark-haired Dwarf first laid a hand on his head, but he let out another soft whine at the soothing motion. The dark-haired Dwarf gave a small grin and he continued to run his hand over Bilbo’s head.

The blond Dwarf said something quietly to the dark-haired Dwarf. Pausing in his ministrations, the dark-haired Dwarf held his injured arm out to the blond Dwarf. Bilbo whined and nuzzled at the Dwarf’s free hand. The Dwarf grinned shyly and went back to petting him while the blond Dwarf peeled back his sleeve. His skin had been punctured by Bilbo’s teeth and small droplets of blood had formed over the wounds. Bilbo whined and lowered his head slightly. He shouldn’t have responded like that when he met the Dwarves. Belladonna and Hildifons had always told him never to attack someone who wasn’t trying to hurt you first. The Dwarf had simply been a bit overenthusiastic about meeting him, he hadn’t meant any real harm. The dark-haired Dwarf said something to Bilbo and scratched him behind the ear. Bilbo leaned into the touch slightly, his tail swishing against the rug. Maybe these two Dwarves weren’t as bad as the rest.

The door slammed open a second time and, for the second time that day, Bilbo didn’t pause to think things through. All the manic energy the two Dwarves had managed to get under control unleashed itself for a second time. The dark-haired Dwarf released a cry and lunged away from Bilbo, jerking his arm out the blond Dwarf’s grip, as Bilbo ducked out from under the Dwarf’s soothing hand and spun around to the newcomers.

Dwalin and a new Dwarf, who looked slightly like the dark-haired Dwarf but with hair as dark as raven’s feathers and an actual, albeit short, beard, stood in the doorway. They had stared at the peaceful scene for about a minute before noticing Bilbo, who had bunched himself up before lunging at the pair of Dwarves. The blond Dwarf shouted and lunged forward as if to grab Bilbo’s collar, but he missed and landed on his stomach instead.

The black-haired Dwarf lunged to the side, narrowly avoiding being bitten by Bilbo, but Dwalin stood his ground. He grabbed onto Bilbo’s collar when Bilbo reached him and moved to sink his teeth into Dwalin’s arm. Bilbo snarled and twisted in Dwalin’s grip, but Dwalin simply moved his arms out of the way every time Bilbo tried biting one. The blond Dwarf shouted behind them and Bilbo ignored him, continuing to snap at Dwalin’s arm. Dwalin grunted when Bilbo’s fang brushed against the underside of his arm.

A hand wrapped around Bilbo’s muzzle, trapping his upper and lower jaw together, and whoever was behind him grabbed Bilbo’s collar and dragged him back. Dwalin released Bilbo’s collar, turning around to shut the door tightly. Bilbo backed up, tossing his head and struggling against the grip on his muzzle, but it was useless. The Dwarf holding him had too strong of a grip, as though he had experience with hard labor.

Bilbo stilled, breathing heavily and glaring ahead at the wall before him. The dark-haired Dwarf had backed up against the wall, holding his injured arm to his chest, and the blond Dwarf had stood up from the ground, speaking in Khuzdul and holding his hands out in a pleading gesture. So, if both of the young Dwarves were in front of him and Dwalin was by the door, that only left one person to be holding onto Bilbo, the black-haired Dwarf.

A deep, baritone voice spoke behind Bilbo and the blond Dwarf responded quickly, his voice changing as he went from speaking to pleading with the Dwarf about something. The black-haired Dwarf said something sharply and the blond Dwarf fell silent, frowning.

“Are you going to behave?” Bilbo startled at the words spoken from behind him, but he didn’t struggle. The Dwarf must have taken it as a “yes” and he loosened his grip on Bilbo’s muzzle slightly. Bilbo moved with a speed unmatched by the Dwarves and ducked out from under the hand and, twisting around, he reared up to sink his teeth into the Dwarf.

The black-haired Dwarf jerked back and both him and Dwalin shouted in surprise at Bilbo’s movement. The blond-haired Dwarf cried out in Khuzdul in a begging tone. Bilbo ignored him and snapped at the black-haired Dwarf’s neck. The Dwarf leaned back and Bilbo made to move again before he stopped. Belatedly, Bilbo realized that when he had twisted around, he had managed to not only trap the Dwarf’s hand in his collar, but he had tightened the collar to the point he could barely breathe.

Wheezing, Bilbo sank down, feeling a hand slip under his head to help lower him quickly. Footsteps hurried up to him and a flash of blond hair appeared in the corner of Bilbo’s vision. He ignored it and focused on trying to draw breath in. Hands grabbed at Bilbo and began lifting him, trying to spin him around and loosen the collar, but Bilbo struggled against them, snapping his jaws together in a weak gesture of self-defense. One of the Dwarves – Dwalin, possibly, it sounded like his voice – said something in a sharp tone and he struggled to tighten his grip on Bilbo.

A voice said something, Bilbo really couldn’t focus now, and the sound of metal being drawn reached Bilbo’s ears. He jerked feebly in the Dwarves’ grips, trying to get away from whatever weapon had just been drawn, and his collar tightened slightly as someone tugged on it, and then suddenly it was gone. No pressure on his throat, no Dwarves trying to turn him over. Simply sweet, fresh air flowing down into his lungs. Bilbo laid on the ground and ignored the Dwarves speaking above him. He just needed to focus on breathing while he still could.

Unfortunately for Bilbo, his respite lasted barely a minute before his body exploded in pain. He let out a strangled half-scream-half-howl and tried to push himself up, failing miserably as he collapsed into a heap on the ground. He ignored the shouts of the Dwarves and the hands reaching out to grab him. All he could focus on was the pain as a sickening crunching sound filled the room and the Dwarves fell silent. A burning sensation filled Bilbo’s bones as they lengthened and grew thicker, the jaws of his muzzle shrinking back to form a much smaller and more pronounced chin. A frantic itching sensation covered all of Bilbo’s skin as the fur drew back to reveal pale skin and his knees groaned in protest when they shifted.

Bilbo writhed on the ground, dimly aware of someone grabbing him gently and holding him close. A blanket was draped over his frame as the last of the transformation finished, his ears shrinking down and rounding. Bilbo fell limp against the Dwarf holding him and he panted, oblivious to his surroundings. He had never experienced a transformation like that before; every one of them had been bothersome, but they’d never been that painful.

Voices spoke softly overhead and Bilbo ignored them, allowing the peaceful darkness to overtake him. The last thing he felt was the blanket drawing closer around him and someone smoothing his curls away from his face before the darkness finally claimed him and he drifted off into a troubled sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Fili keeps this up I might just have to kick him out of the story entirely. He's causing trouble. So, I have to meet with the Art Committee at five today and I need to go over a memo to make some corrections and write a proposal (did I mention that I'm a professional writing minor? It's boring) but the professor said we just need to bring in what we have tomorrow. It doesn't have to be a full draft. Thank goodness.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. It makes me really excited and I'm probably going to have no enthusiasm to do my homework today (oops). So, maybe I'll just avoid homework and write a second chapter instead! I still have five hours until the meetings.
> 
> As usual, you write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D
> 
> *Quick note I almost forgot* Pollux is taking a much needed break from her Into Space series and has begun work on a (hopefully) much less stressful story. Let's see if I can explain it properly. Bella Baggins has been on the run most of her life, desperately trying to dodge the fabled Dwarven King. The only problem is, the Dwarven King never lets a child escape from his clutches. Now, Bella is forced by a psychiatric program to settle down in one place and, when her hopes for a normal life have grown, someone accidentally summons the Dwarven King. What's Bella to do when the nightmare from her past finally catches up to her?
> 
> Slightly (very slightly) based on the Labyrinth with a lot of fairytale mixed in. If you're interested, take a look! It's called "A Modern Fairytale" and Pollux would love it if you stopped by.


	15. The Unfortunate Meeting of Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe all of you a huge apology. Especially Yoru-Hana, Billibob, FavFan, teaDragon, Child_of_Demon, and SpikeySugarBomb. I try to keep the promises I make, and I promised you chapters if I got comments. Well, I got comments and I didn't give you any chapters and I'm very sorry for that.
> 
> Some updates on what life is looking at right now: It is the second week of the new semester (first full week) and it's just mostly reading right now, so I don't think I need to worry a lot about writing papers at the moment. I got a new laptop! My old one was really slowing down on my the battery couldn't hold a charge for the life of it anymore, so, hey! New laptop. And the really big news for now (drumroll please) Pollux is currently working in Yellowstone until mid-October. She's been there since the beginning of August. We are twins (hence the names) and we have never been apart this long before :( I miss her everyday.
> 
> Anyhoo, I'm going to let you get to the chapter that you all deserve. I only wish it could have been longer for all of you.

**The Unfortunate Meeting of Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield**

 

Bilbo woke from the strangest dream he’d ever had, feeling like he’d taken a tumble down a hill. The next time Rorimac invited him over to try one of his “home-brewed” ales, Bilbo would have to decline, or he’d wind up having even stranger dreams. Bilbo snuggled deeper into his bed, prepared to go back to sleep, and froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. His pillow was rougher than he remembered, almost as if it was made out of a cheap cloth and stuffed with equally coarse fabric instead of goose down.

Opening his eyes, Bilbo had to squint to make out what he was seeing in the dark room. He felt as if his eyesight had gotten worse and he needed a pair of glasses to help him see. Focusing through the gloom, Bilbo could just barely make out a small table set beside his equally small bed; dim, flickering light filtering through a small square in the wall; and a form hunched over, sitting against the wall. The figure appeared to be examining something in its lap.

Bilbo sucked in a breath and the figure froze in its ministrations. Sitting up slowly, Bilbo kept a careful eye on the dark, bulky figure. They both remained still for a moment before Bilbo cleared his throat.

“H-Hello,” Bilbo said shakily. He wasn’t quite sure if the figure would lash out at him for speaking, or if the figure was even violent at all. “May I inquire as to where I am?”

The figure said nothing in return to Bilbo’s question. Instead, it stood up from where it had been sitting—which was a small stool, apparently—and moved over to the door. It opened the door and Bilbo squinted again as dim light filtered into the room, temporarily blinding him. He raised a hand to block the light, listening as two voices murmured back to each other in soft tones. He felt like he should have been able to hear them clearly. Maybe he had tumbled down a hill and hit his head?

The figure turned around, catching Bilbo’s attention, holding a small, flickering candle in its hand. Not its, Bilbo realized, his. The figure standing before him was a male creature with long, black hair and a short equally black beard. Some of the figure’s hair had been woven into small braids clasped in beads. The figure studied Bilbo with sharp, bright blue eyes. A Dwarf, Bilbo realized. He was staring at a Dwarf. The past events of the last week rushed back to him and he stumbled out of bed, backing against the wall with wide eyes. The Dwarf stepped forward, holding out his free hand, palm up, in a silent plea for Bilbo to calm down.

“Y-You.” Bilbo pointed at the Dwarf standing before him. “You’re a Dwarf!”

The Dwarf paused then took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said in Common Tongue. “I am a Dwarf.”

Bilbo frowned as the memories continued to return. “You don’t speak Common,” he said. “None of you do. Except Bofur. He spoke Common.” Bilbo’s heart began to pound in his chest and he felt light-headed. Maybe rushing to his feet hadn’t been the best idea.

The Dwarf seemed to notice Bilbo’s light-headedness. “Please.” He gestured to the bed. “Sit down.”

Bilbo slowly shook his head. “No,” he said, then paused and added, “You can’t make me.” He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he didn’t want the Dwarf to feel like he had the upper hand. In fact, he didn’t want the Dwarf to have the upper hand at all. Bilbo cleared his throat and winced slightly. He felt like he’d swallowed sand. He brushed his fingers against his neck and winced at the slight twinge of pain that ran through him.

The Dwarf—whom had been watching carefully—cringed at Bilbo reaction and strode forward, holding his hand up in a peaceful gesture as he placed the candle on the table. Bilbo remained huddled against the wall, watching the Dwarf carefully as he headed back to the door, opened and began speaking with someone in soft tones once more.

Bilbo leaned over, trying to see past the Dwarf. Maybe he could try and surprise him? He could shove the Dwarf from behind, slip past and try to find his way out of wherever he was. The Dwarf glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Bilbo, who realized his plan must have been clearly written on his face. The Dwarf turned back and nodded as he listened to the speaker on the other side of the door before he stepped back and shut it tightly. The Dwarf turned back to Bilbo.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the Dwarf said. “My name is Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain.” The Dwarf paused in his speech, his eyes widening as he seemed to realize something. “Not that I expect you to call me that,” the Dwarf added hastily. “I would never expect you to consider me your king.”

Bilbo stared at the Dwarf. One minute he’d been speaking regally, the next he stammered like a fauntling being forced to introduce himself to a stranger. The Dwarf—Thorin, Bilbo corrected himself—stopped speaking, closed his eyes and took a deep breath in before opening his eyes once more.

“Please,” Thorin said. “Allow me to rephrase that. My name is Thorin, son of Thrain. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” He held his hand out to Bilbo, his palm up. Bilbo looked between the hand and Thorin’s eyes in disbelief. He vaguely remembered a white-haired Dwarf named Balin doing a similar thing. Thorin seemed to notice Bilbo’s confused and he let his hand fall to his side. The Dwarf said nothing as an uneasy silence began to fill the room.

Bilbo studied Thorin carefully as the Dwarf stood before him, looking slightly uncomfortable. Thorin had rattled off his title like he said it all the time, or at least heard it all the time. And if his grandfather was King under the Mountain, that would mean Thorin was a Prince under the Mountain. Bilbo straightened himself up the best he could—he was still quite a bit shorter than Thorin, after all—and looked straight into the Dwarf Prince’s eyes.

“You will allow me to leave here and return home.” Bilbo cringed at his voice, which had sounded slightly croaky. He’d been hoping to sound a bit more like a Baggins of Bag End and not someone attempting to get over a cold.

Thorin’s lips twitched slightly, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be upset with Bilbo’s words or to be amused by them. Heat began to creep up Bilbo’s face and he scowled. That was not the reaction he’d been hoping for. Thorin seemed to notice Bilbo’s scowl and the twitch stopped, turning into a small frown. He cleared his throat.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave here,” Thorin said. He clasped his hands behind his back.

Bilbo stared at Thorin, aghast. “You just told me you’re a prince,” he said. “You can simply order everyone to let me leave and I’ll-” Thorin shook his head, cutting off the rest of what Bilbo had been about to say.

“It’s too dangerous,” Thorin said. “If you were to leave here you could get attacked by Orcs or bandits. I could never allow that, especially not to a skin-changer.”

The heat left Bilbo’s face and his blood ran cold. “Skin-changer?” he repeated, then remembered. Right. The white-haired Dwarf had said something about him bonding with a Thorin. This must be that Thorin. Bilbo looked at Thorin, who looked slightly worried about Bilbo’s abrupt silence. “I won’t bond with you,” Bilbo said quietly.

Thorin’s gaze softened and Bilbo gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to change into a shepherd and sink his teeth into the Dwarf’s arm. He didn’t know where the desire came from—and he certainly didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to change into a dog—but he hated the piteous look Thorin gave him.

“We have no choice,” Thorin said gently, as if explaining it to a child. “There are no other skin-changers in the mountain and my people lose hope. If I can bond with you, it will give them the courage to continue on. Perhaps we’ll even be able to rally an army to take back Erebor.”

“Take back Erebor?” Bilbo stared at Thorin. He didn’t want to help take back someplace called Erebor, he wanted to go home. “You can’t make me bond with you,” he said softly. “I won’t do it.”

“Given some time,” Thorin said. “I think you will.” Bilbo’s blood boiled at Thorin’s words. Never in his entire life, would Bilbo ever “bond” with someone who had just kidnapped him.

Someone knocked on the door and Thorin turned around to open it. Bilbo reacted before his brain could catch up with him. Darting forward, Bilbo rammed his shoulder into Thorin’s back, directly between the Dwarf’s shoulder blades.

Thorin cursed as he fell forward, Bilbo on top of him. Bilbo looked up to find a familiar tattooed Dwarf standing before the pair of them, a wooden, steaming mug gripped tightly in his hands and a shocked expression on his face. Dwalin, Bilbo recalled. The Dwarf’s name was Dwalin. Tossing the useless thought aside, Bilbo surged to his feet while doing his best to ignore the ache in his bones. He needed to avoid changing for a little bit, Bilbo decided. It would only make the ache worse.

Bilbo’s feet barely touched the stone floor before they were swept out from under him. He fell face forward towards the ground, crying out in surprise. His hands shout out to stop the fall, but an arm wrapped tightly around his chest and arms, drawing him close to their owner’s chest. A hand shot out to wrap tightly around Bilbo’s wrist. Bilbo remained still for a moment, too surprised to really do anything, before he began writhing in his captor’s grip.

“Let me go!” Bilbo lashed out with his feet, but Dwalin remained out of his way, watching as Bilbo’s captor heaved him back into the small room. _It must be Thorin_ , Bilbo thought. _He’s the only one missing right now._ “Let. Me. Go!” Bilbo attempted to kick out behind himself with every word, but Thorin simply ignored Bilbo’s actions and carried him to the bed. Boots clomped as Dwalin followed the pair of them into the room.

Thorin dropped Bilbo on the bed gracelessly and Bilbo shot up, ready to shove him over once more and make another bid for freedom. Thorin simply shoved him down and muttered something in a strange language to Dwalin, who set the mug down on the small table and began rifling through his pockets.

“Let me go,” Bilbo hissed. He attempted to kick Thorin in the stomach, and the Dwarf climbed on the bed, using a leg to pin down both of Bilbo’s legs. Bilbo cursed loudly at how easily the Dwarf pinned him down and relished in the surprised look Thorin gave him. Just because Belladonna had taught Bilbo that it was impolite to curse, didn’t mean she hadn’t taught him when were the correct times when he could.

Dwalin finally found whatever it was he had been looking for and leaned forward, grasping one of Bilbo’s wrists and dragging it up to the simple, wood-framed head board. Dwalin wrapped a leather thong around one of the bars on the headboard before wrapping it around Bilbo’s wrist. Bilbo struggled against the two Dwarves uselessly until they suddenly released him and backed away. Dwalin headed straight for the doorway without a second glance at the Hobbit while Thorin paused beside the bed. He looked down at Bilbo with an expression that clearly said he’d rather be doing something else at the moment. Bilbo glared defiantly up at Thorin, tugging on his bound wrist.

“I wish we had met under different circumstances,” Thorin said softly. “I wish we could have met in the halls of Erebor with our parents by our sides.” He looked away, refusing to meet Bilbo’s eyes. “But fate has not been kind to us.” Turning on his heel, Thorin left the room and shut the door behind himself.

Bilbo watched Thorin leaved then looked at his bound wrist and tugged on it. His gaze shot back to the door when a soft grating sound echoed throughout the room. The blood drained from Bilbo’s face. They must have pulled a wooden board across the door, locking him in the room. Looking back up at his wrist, Bilbo plucked at the knot and quickly realized Dwalin had tied a simple slip knot. Tugging on one of the ends of the leather thong, Bilbo freed his wrist easily and sat up, looking around the room.

He was trapped with nowhere to go and no way to get out. Shifting the edge of the bed, Bilbo continued to look around himself. He couldn’t see any way to get out of the room. At least he couldn’t see a way with the candle providing a dim light. If the room had been lit up with daylight, it might be a completely different story.

Bilbo’s gaze fell on the mug sitting on the small side table. He picked it up carefully and sniffed it. It didn’t smell strange to him. He took a careful taste and frowned. It tasted like chamomile with a dash of honey and lemon. His tussle with the two Dwarves had lasted long enough that the tea had cooled slightly and Bilbo took another sip, the warm liquid soothing his aching throat. Soon, he had finished the tea and he set the empty mug on the table and laid back on the bed. He didn’t know if it was simply due to exhaustion or if the Dwarves had slipped something into the tea, but Bilbo’s eyes drifted shut quickly and he was asleep within a matter of minutes.

 

Fili stared at the dark ceiling above him. If he really concentrated, he could just barely make out the small number of stars he could see through the small skylight installed in the ceiling. Kili shifted on the bed beside him, grumbling slightly, and Fili turned his head to look at his brother. Kili must not be able to sleep, either. Fili rolled over onto his side.

“Kili?” Fili whispered into the dark. Kili remained silent for a moment before he rolled over, sticking an under his pillow and resting his head on it. Fili could make out his brother’s face almost perfectly in the dark, he couldn’t see the small details but he could see enough that he knew it was Kili staring at him.

“What do you think Thorin’s doing right now?” Kili asked in a loud whisper. Fili immediately scowled at his brother and lifted a finger to his lips. He turned his head to the door to their room and listened carefully. When it came to late-night conversations, their mother, Dis, somehow managed to hear them chatting every time.

“Sorry,” Kili said in a quieter voice. “But what do you think he’s doing?”

“Probably scaring the skin-changer to death,” Fili whispered back, then added, “If it’s awake.” Kili frowned, his brow furrowing.

“Thorin wouldn’t actually try to scare it to death, would he?” Kili asked. “I mean, he seemed really worried when the skin-changer passed out.”

Fili frowned. Kili was correct there, for a change. Thorin had gathered the skin-changer into his arms and ordered for Kili to fetch Oin immediately. The younger Dwarf had practically flown out the door in his rush to fetch the healing Dwarf, who hadn’t been too pleased when he found out what had happened to the skin-changer in its first day in the mountain.

“Thorin doesn’t want to scare anyone to death,” Fili said, hoping he sounded reassuring. Kili continued to frown thoughtfully and Fili added. “Remember when we were beardlings and I led us out of the mountain?”

“Yes?” Kili said uncertainly and Fili gave him a look he reserved only for his brother. “No.”

“We didn’t tell anyone,” Fili said. “We snuck out of the mountain and came back just in time for dinner. We showed up at the front door just as Thorin was coming to tell _Amad_ that he couldn’t find us anywhere.”

“He yelled at us in front of everybody.” Kili snuggled under his blankets, looking sullen. “We had to go with him everywhere for a week.”

Fili nodded. “He was just worried about us, so he yelled at us and made you cry.”

“You cried too!” Kili shot back in a hiss. Fili scowled at his brother, listening carefully for any signs that Dis had heard them. When he was sure their mother was still asleep, Fili looked back at his brother.

“Sorry,” Kili muttered. “But you did too cry!”

“Fine,” Fili snapped. “We both cried. But that’s because we were scared, right? We didn’t know that Thorin was just worried about us.” Kili nodded slowly. “So, either Thorin is yelling at the skin-changer and scaring the daylights out of it, or he’s just trying to talk to it and scaring the daylights out of it.”

Kili grinned weakly. “You really think he’s going to scare the daylights out of it?”

“Oh, please,” Fili scoffed. “Everyone knows the only reason the Men trade with us so easily is because Thorin always manages to scare them.” Kili drew the blankets up to his face, hiding his smile. Fili went on, grinning. “’I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain. Trade with me.’” He mimicked his uncle’s voice but much deeper, and Kili buried his face into his pillow as he began laughing.

Kili stayed that way for a couple minutes and Fili began to worry that his brother might be suffocating himself when Kili finally turned his head to look at him, a serious expression on his face despite the fact that his shoulders were still shaking.

“If I say something,” Kili said. “Do you promise not to laugh at me?”

“I promise,” Fili said. Kili looked at him doubtfully and he raised his right hand. “If I should lie, you may stone me in the eye.” He spoke the promise they’d made as children. Kili had once repeated it in front of Dis and she’d nearly had a heart attack. After that, the two brothers only ever said it when no one else was listening.

“I think it liked you,” Kili said softly. The smile fell off Fili’s face. “I mean it. When you were petting it and you got it to let go of me. It really seemed to like you. What if you bonded with it, instead of Thorin?”

Fili rolled over onto his back, staring up at the stars again. “It’s not my choice, Kili.”

“Yeah,” Kili said. “But what if you could? What if you actually bonded with a skin-changer?” He sounded excited by the idea. “You are Thorin’s heir, after all. I bet he wouldn’t mind.”

“Thorin let three different skin-changers bond with other Dwarves,” Fili said softly. He turned his head to look at his brother. The excitement had left Kili’s face. “Can you imagine what it would be like if he lost another chance?”

“Yeah,” Kili said. “I get that. I just meant, that if you could bond with the skin-changer, would you?”

Fili turned his head to look back up at the stars. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think it’s really our choice. The skin-changer chooses who they bond with. Balin’s always told us that.”

“You’re still not answering my question,” Kili grumbled and Fili sighed.

“If I was given the chance to bond with the skin-changer,” Fili said. “I think I’d let Thorin have that chance. What would it look like if the heir to the throne bonded with a skin-changer meant for the King?”

“You sound like Thorin,” Kili said and Fili rolled his eyes. He could always trust Kili to think like a beardling. Fili had been raised knowing he was heir to the throne. At a young age, he’d decided that it would be best if he acted like it. Kili had started teasing him about nonstop for years. He didn’t as often anymore, but it still came up once in a while.

“Goodnight, Kili,” Fili said, stifling a yawn.

“’Night, Fee,” Kili mumbled back and the sheets shifted as he moved around to get comfortable. Fili began to drift off when Kili’s voice brought him back. “But just think about it,” Kili said. “What if you did bond with it?”

Fili rolled over onto his side, facing the doorway with his back to Kili. “Good night, Kili,” he bit out, making it clear the conversation was over. Kili grumbled slightly, but he fell silent and soon his snores filled the air.

Fili stared at the door to their bedroom. What if the skin-changer did choose to bond with him? How would Thorin be able to handle that? He’d let three other skin-changers bond with other Dwarves, and Fili wasn’t so sure Thorin could handle losing another chance. Fili crumpled his sheets in his fists and closed his eyes tightly. “Please, Oromë,” he said in a whisper even he could barely here. “Please, if you’re listening. Make him choose Thorin. I don’t think he can handle losing another chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you are. The long awaited chapter after seven long months. Now I just need to catch up on all the chapters I owe you. I probably won't be able to write a chapter tomorrow, I've got classes from 11 to 6, but my brain might suddenly start coming up with a whole bunch of great ideas that will drive me crazy until I write them down. Who knows? Maybe I'll be able to write another tonight, after I finish all of my readings.
> 
> Even though I don't deserve them but my brain will drive me crazy if my chapter don't match up (deep breath in): You write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D


	16. The Meeting of Bilbo and Dis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, a new chapter for all of you, my lovely readers. It was wonderful to hear from all of you. So far, the semester isn't looking to bad and I don't have a full day of classes tomorrow! So, cross your fingers that I have enough energy to write a chapter. Without further adieu, I'll let you get to what you really want, the chapter.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Meeting of Bilbo and Dis**

 

Thorin stared up at his ceiling, one arm tucked under his pillow, watching through the skylight as the dark sky slowly began to lighten. How had he managed to mess his first meeting with the skin-changer so spectacularly? He’d managed to make a fool of himself, introducing himself as the heir to a kingdom and practically commanding the skin-changer to bond with him. Hadn’t Thrain and Thror taught him better? Hadn’t he always been told to allow skin-changers to make their own decisions?

A deep, somber sound filled the room as someone blew the morning horn, alerting all of the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains that the sun had risen. Thorin sighed and rolled over to sit up and allow his legs to hang over the side of his bed. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and groaned. How in Durin’s name was he supposed to fix this now? A series of hard knocks landed on his bedroom door and Thorin jerked, looking up as Dis opened the door and poked her head in.

“Didn’t you hear the horn?” Dis asked. She spoke in an all too cheerful voice that she always managed when she’d been awake hours before anyone else. “The sun’s up and breakfast is ready.” Her face fell when Thorin didn’t respond. “Thorin?”

“I’m fine,” Thorin muttered. He stood up from the bed and went over to his wardrobe and began rifling through his tunics and breeches. The door clicked closed behind him and Thorin sighed in relief. He wasn’t sure if he was quite ready to deal with his sister at the moment. He leaned down and began sorting through the boots at the bottom of his wardrobe, trying to find a matching pair.

“Did it really go that bad?” Dis’ voice came from behind him and Thorin jerked forward in surprise, slamming his head into the back of his wardrobe.

Stumbling back, Thorin held his head and cursed loudly. He turned around to glare at his younger sister, who stood by the door, covering her mouth with her hands. Thorin couldn’t be sure if she was covering her mouth because she was worried about him, or if she was doing it because she was trying not to laugh. Dis’ shoulders shook slightly and Thorin scowled at her, still rubbing his head. Laughing, then.

Dis finally drew her hands away from her face. “Are you all right?” she asked, then clapped a hand over her mouth when Thorin continued to rub his head.

“I just ran my head into solid wood,” Thorin snapped. “I think I’ve had better mornings.” Dis let her hand fall away from her mouth, the mirth left her face and a frown quickly replaced it. Instantly, guilt began to well up in Thorin’s chest. It seemed like he was insulting everyone this week.

“You didn’t have to snap at me,” Dis said. “I just asked if things went poorly. But if you’re not in the mood to talk.” She turned and opened the door, prepared to leave. Thorin watched, thoughts quickly running through his head. Dis had grown up bonded with a skin-changer, maybe she could help him.

“Wait,” Thorin said, just as Dis left the room. She poked her head back in, looking at him expectantly, and Thorin took a deep breath in. “I need to speak with you.” Dis nodded in understanding and remained where she was. “Alone,” Thorin added with gritted teeth.

Dis’ eyes widened. “Oh!” She stepped into the room and shut the door behind herself. “Is this about the skin-changer?” she asked and Thorin nodded grimly. “You never told me how it went.”

“It went . . . poorly,” Thorin admitted. He strode across the room and sank down onto his bed. “I had expected to introduce myself properly, and instead I called myself a king.”

Dis folded her arms over her chest. “Technically, you _are_ a king,” she said, but she looked worried. “I hope you didn’t just leave it at that.” Thorin shook his head and studied the stone beneath his feet. He didn’t know if he actually wanted to tell his sister the whole story. “Well?” Thorin looked up and found Dis looking at him expectantly. “What else happened? Did it tell you its name?”

“He,” Thorin corrected. “And no.” Dis’ arms fell to her sides and her she stared at Thorin, her mouth hanging open slightly in shock. Heat crept over Thorin’s face. “He argued with me,” he said. “Every time I tried speaking with me, he started arguing with me.”

“He argued with you,” Dis said. “Or you argued with him?” Her expression had turned frosty and she folded her arms over her chest once more, fixing her glare on Thorin. “Which is it?”

Thorin took a deep breath in. “I argued with him, I suppose,” he said.

“You suppose?” Dis repeated. “What is that supposed to mean?” Her glare grew and expression went from frosty to stony.

“I told him that he would bond with me eventually,” Thorin said, and Dis threw her hands up in the air. She spun in a quick circle, looking around the room for something she hit before she thumped her fist against the door several times. Finally, she turned back to Thorin and he winced, fully expecting to become the next target for her fist.

“How?” Dis asked. “How did you managed to mess that up? All you had to do was introduce yourself, and instead you went around commanding him like you were his king! How in Durin’s name did you manage that?”

Thorin covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice muffled. “I simply wanted to speak with him, and every time I tried we started arguing.”

“That’s because you acted like a king,” Dis said. “You’re not supposed to do that. He’s supposed to become your partner, a part of the family, not your subject. Command everyone in the mountain.” Dis gestured with a sweeping arm. “Command Kili, for all I care. But don’t think that you, Thorin Oakenshield, can command a skin-changer.” Dis turned and flung the door open.

Thorin watched his sister speak, shocked by her words and tone of voice, and stumbled to his feet when she opened the door. “Where are you going?” he asked. Dis paused, shooting an ice cold glare over her shoulder at him.

“I’m going to hopefully fix the mess you’ve made,” she said, and disappeared down the hallway.

Thorin sank back down on his bed and groaned. Now his sister, sweet, gentle Dis, was mad at him. Was anything going to go right for him? Footsteps paused and Thorin looked up to see Fili and Kili standing in the doorway. Kili looked at Thorin with wide eyes while Fili wore a frown that clearly showed his disapproval of the situation. Kili opened his mouth and Fili grabbed his arm, dragging him down the hallway and towards the kitchen. Thorin groaned again. Who wasn’t mad at him?

 

Bilbo sat on the cold stone floor and stared up at the small window filtering light into his prison. He’d racked his brain for nearly an hour since he’d woken up to a loud horn echoing through the hallways of wherever he was, but every plan he could come up with had its faults. The window was too high for him to reach as a Hobbit, so he’d attempted to come up with ways to escape using other forms.

He could turn into a songbird, like Belladonna had done several times, and fly up to the window to see if it had a latch of some kind. But what would he do if there was a latch? He couldn’t very well move the latch when he was a small songbird, a larger bird might be able to, like a raven, but he had never quite been able to change into a raven and the only other bird form he had was too large to be able to fit under the window and fiddle with a latch at the same time.

He’d thought of turning into a smaller animal, like a rodent or a cat, and slipping past the Dwarf who opened the door next, but the plan had one major flaw: Bilbo didn’t know his way around this place. He’d most likely only succeed in getting lost and he wouldn’t be able to ask anyone for directions on how to get out. Any Dwarf who saw him would get suspicious immediately and alert a guard of some sort, assuming they had guards, of course.

Bilbo groaned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and massaging his temples with his fingertips. All of this thinking was beginning to give him a headache. He peered back up at the small window. What would Belladonna do? Better yet, what would Hildifons do? He had always been the cleverest Took Bilbo had known, able to get himself out of any trouble he may or may not have caused.

“Valar, help me,” Bilbo muttered. He jumped slightly when a soft grating sound echoed through his room. Apparently they were moving the wooden slat blocking the door, at least, that was what Bilbo thought. He hadn’t really seen their locking system, since he’d been unconscious when they put him in here in the first place.

The door swung open, and Bilbo straightened up, fixing his best glare on the door. He had no interest in listening to Thorin attempt to persuade him into doing what he didn’t want. His glare quickly morphed into a look of surprise when what appeared to a female Dwarf stepped into the room carrying a wooden tray with a mug and a plate resting on it. At least, Bilbo thought the Dwarf was female, she was wearing a dress, after all. The Dwarf smiled at Bilbo warmly and a pang filled his chest as he was reminded of Belladonna, who had died many years ago.

Bilbo remained where he sat, eyeing the female Dwarf suspiciously until she reached down, grasping a small bit of her skirts in her hand and pulled them to the side slightly as she curtsied to him. “Good morning,” she said. Her voice was soft and she spoke in a tone that resonated a very formal upbringing. “My name is Dis.” The Dwarf released her skirts and smiled at Bilbo, and he stared at her until he realized what she expected.

Bilbo didn’t get up from the floor, he’d most likely collapse from his aching joints and muscles, but he inclined his head to the new Dwarf. “Bilbo Baggins,” he muttered, then added, “At your service.” Belladonna had raised him to be polite, after all, and it would be extremely rude of him not to greet this Dwarf in some way.

Dis’ smile remained on her face, but somehow became sweeter as she moved across the room to set the wooden tray down on the small side table beside the stub remaining from the candle Thorin had left the night before. Dis turned around once she had set the tray down and settled herself down on the edge of her bed, arranging her skirts carefully around herself until they were satisfactory then turned her smile back on Bilbo.

 Bilbo continued to stare at Dis until he eventually shuffled around in a small circle so that he could face her without craning his neck around. Dis simply continued to smile at him until an awkward silence began to fill the air and Bilbo squirmed in his spot slightly. What exactly did this Dwarf want?

Dis leaned forward and said in a very loud whisper, “It’s normally polite to allow the guest to speak first.” She sat back, content with Bilbo staring at her as though she might have knocked her head on something. Did Dis even know what was going on? Did she have any idea what he’d been through in the past week?

Bilbo cleared his throat, straightened his back and rested his hands on his knees. “Where exactly am I?” he asked. He half-expected for Dis to begin rattling off what he’d been hearing from the Dwarves for the last couple days. Bonding, living in the mountain for the rest of his life and whatnot.

Dis’ smile didn’t waver. “The Blue Mountains,” she said. “In a settlement graciously provided to us by the Broadbeams.” She said the name with a hint of distaste in her voice even though her expression didn’t change. Dis looked as if she had simply listed off what time tea could be expected. “Any other questions?”

A thousand questions began to form in Bilbo’s head, and he desperately tried to sort through all of them. Asking Dis how to get out of the mountain would be just plain dangerous, she could tell Thorin about what Bilbo was thinking. Trying to find anything out about Thorin or any other Dwarves would probably be just as dangerous. Finally, Bilbo settled on a question he hoped would be safe.

“Who exactly are you?” Bilbo asked. “You don’t seem like a guard.”

Dis threw her head back and laughed at that until she managed to collect herself and replied, “I’m Dis, daughter of Thrain and younger sister to Thorin. Most of the Dwarves here prefer to call me Princess.”

Bilbo stared at Dis. She’d just told him she was Thorin’s little sister, but she seemed nothing like him. For one, it seemed like the pair of them were sitting at tea and getting to know one another instead of holding him prisoner in a locked room. He ventured on, choosing another careful question.

“And are you here to convince me to bond with your brother?” Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the very thought of doing such a thing. He eyes Dis carefully, waiting for her to begin lecturing him on why he should bond with Thorin.

Dis gave a much softer laugh this time and waved a hand dismissively. “Of course not,” she said. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you happened to sink your teeth into my brother’s leg. He certainly deserves it.”

Bilbo stared at Dis openly, shocked by her words. “Excuse me?”

Dis eyed Bilbo carefully. “Yes,” she said. “Forgive me for that comment. You don’t quite seem the type to go biting people.”

“Well, I have bitten a few,” Bilbo mumbled and shook his head so that his hair fell into his face. He felt like a fauntling again, reliving the moment when Belladonna had scolded him for biting Otho Sackville-Baggins, even though he’d deserved it.

“Now that we know who I am,” Dis said, gesturing at herself with a flourish of her hand. “How about I ask who you are?” She gave Bilbo a pointed look, telling him that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this question.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo said, even though he’d already told Dis his name once. They remained silent for a minute before Dis spoke.

“It’s normal for skin-changers to introduce themselves by their house,” Dis said in a gentle, motherly tone. “It’s custom, really.”

Heat crept up Bilbo’s face slowly and he hunched down slightly. “I’m a Hobbit,” he mumbled. “What else is there to know?”

“Well, then,” Dis said. She leaned down and held her hand out to Bilbo. “It’s very nice to meet you, Bilbo Baggins of the Hobbit House.” His flush receding slightly, Bilbo reached out and grasped her hand. The Dwarf’s hand was warm and smooth, and Dis shook Bilbo’s hand gently before releasing him. She straightened up and gave him her continuous smile.

“Now that we have introductions out of the way,” Dis said. “Would you care for some breakfast?” She motioned to the tray sitting on the side table. “I’m afraid it might have gotten a little cold while we were talking.”

Bilbo’s stomach rumbled despite Dis’ words and the flush returned. Quickly, Bilbo stood up from the floor slowly—wincing at the dull throb in his joints—and made his way to the table. He avoided looking at the Dwarf princess sitting on the bed. Dis had been very polite in the few minutes they’d spoken with each other; he didn’t want to see her amused by the sounds his stomach made.

A hearty breakfast of what looked like ham, eggs, and toast sat on the plate and Bilbo snatched up a piece of toast, taking a large bit out of the golden crust. A sweet flavor exploded on his tongue and Bilbo jerked back and studied the toast. He’d snatched it up so quickly that he hadn’t noticed the honey spread on the toasted bread.

“I’ve always liked something sweet on my bread,” Dis said. “We ran out of the jam preserves yesterday, so I decided to improvise.” She waved a hand at Bilbo and the plate. “You can toss it aside if you don’t like it. Fili and Kili are always begging me not to cook.”

Bilbo responded by shoving the rest of the toast into my mouth before washing it down with the tea in the mug. More chamomile with honey and lemon. While it reminded Bilbo of just exactly why he needed it in the first place, it still helped to sooth the ache remaining in his throat. Bilbo took a bite out of the second piece of toast before he picked up the plate and mug and settled down on the bed, sitting cross-legged.

Dis shifted slightly so that she could continue facing Bilbo while he ate his breakfast. She drew a fork out of a pocket in her dress when Bilbo turned his attention to the eggs and ham and he accepted it gratefully. Dis’ long-lasting smile transformed into a small frown.

“Did they feed you at all while they were dragging you back here?” she asked. Bilbo nodded, unable to speak around the ham currently in mouth. Her frown grew. “They must not have fed you enough, if you’re eating like this.”

Bilbo managed to swallow the large amount of food in his mouth and winced at the pain that twinged in his throat. “My mother always said I ate breakfast like it was my last meal,” he admitted. He speared a bit of ham and eggs on the fork. “I’ve always been a bit of a breakfast person.”

Dis leaned forward, the twinkle returning to her eyes. “Me too,” she whispered. “Everyone in this mountain knows I like a hearty meal for breakfast. Except for my brother, he’s somehow managed to miss that even though he’s known me my whole life.”

Bilbo scowled at the mention of Dis’ brother but he said nothing as he ate another bite of breakfast. “I just don’t understand this bonding nonsense,” he said after he’d swallowed the food. “No one’s bothered to actually explain it to me.”

Dis frowned slightly as she sat up. “It’s rather difficult to explain,” she said. Bilbo watched as she sat for a moment, thinking, before she began to speak. “It’s like discovering someone you never knew you needed in your life,” Dis tried, her brow furrowing. “You know that they’re not there to marry you or become a close friend, they’re simply, well, there.” She looked up, a hopeful expression on her face.

Someone who you needed in your life but for reasons even you didn’t know? Bilbo shook his head and Dis sat back, looking slightly dejected. Even that explanation seemed almost impossible to understand.

Dis sighed. “As I said,” she told him. “It’s rather hard to explain.” A curious expression flitted across her face and she eyed Bilbo carefully. “But there might be another way. It might feel a little odd for you, it might even hurt a bit.”

“What is it?” Bilbo placed his empty plate on the bed beside him.

Dis shifted back on the bed until she could sit comfortably with her legs folded. She reached out and Bilbo jerked back slightly. “Relax,” Dis said in a soothing voice. “It’s not dangerous, it’s just a little strange.” She reached out again and Bilbo sat still as she cupped a hand behind his head. “Look me in the eye.” Dis’ voice was soft and Bilbo couldn’t help but stare into her eyes. They were lighter than Thorin’s and flecked with a small amount of gold. It was a bit like staring into a gold-filled mine. They continued to stare into each other’s eyes, Dis’ brow knitting with concentration until an ache began to form in Bilbo’s spine from leaning forward.

Bilbo shifted slightly. He didn’t really like sitting this way and he’d begun to feel a little warm from the dress he was wearing. Bilbo froze, his mouth falling open in astonishment. He wasn’t wearing a dress, he was wearing a tunic and breeches that were slightly too large for him. Amusement filled Dis’ face before concentration filled it once more. All sorts of feelings filled Bilbo’s head. Anger towards someone close to her, joy for experiencing something she’d missed, and . . . resentment. Bilbo’s brow furrowed, mimicking Dis’ expression. He felt resentment towards something Dis had been forced to do long ago.

Without thinking, Bilbo brushed the other feelings aside and nudged the new emotion gently. At least, he thought he nudged it. He wasn’t quite sure how else to think of it. Dis’ expression relaxed slightly and Bilbo nearly collapsed when images filled his mind. Not images, memories. Memories that were most definitely not his.

A small wolf pup playing with another wolf on an expensive woolen rug before a flaming fireplace. The image was replaced with a black and white dog, not yet fully grown but not a puppy, racing alongside a black bearhound puppy and sleek, light brown dog as they tore down a parapet. Guards in brightly shining armor laughed as the three dogs passed by and someone went racing past Bilbo, calling a name he could just barely hear. Bilbo frowned. The Dwarf looked almost exactly like Thorin, but there was something different about him. He didn’t have the same dark, blue eyes. They were lighter, like Dis’. A pang of sorrow filled Bilbo at the sight of the young Dwarf. He was close to Dis but not like a close friend. Maybe a family member of some kind?

The image changed to a forest with tents picketed hastily in the trees. Weeping sounded from all around as young Dwarves—mere children—drew close to their mothers, clutching their skirts and begging for something from them. The sorrow in Bilbo’s chest grew to guilt and he turned around, starting when he saw a Hobbit with golden curls falling over her shoulder. She tugged at her sleeves and said something in Khuzdul. Bilbo stared at the Hobbit in shock. The dress fit her almost perfectly, but strained against her swollen stomach. The Hobbit was pregnant, and most likely due any day now. Another Hobbit ducked out from a tent, fiddling with his own clothes and Bilbo nearly choked. The Hobbit looked like a much younger form of Hildifons. He stood beside the female Hobbit and looked around himself, desperately trying to find something. He turned to Bilbo and spoke to him in Khuzdul, but the female Hobbit shook her head and grasped his wrist firmly in her hand and began dragging him away, several other Hobbits Bilbo hadn’t noticed followed her. The female Hobbit only paused to look back once, a single tear rolling down her face as she turned back around and resumed marching away.

The warm sensation on the back of Bilbo’s neck left and he collapsed on his side gasping. He could see clearly. Dis sat on the bed before him, her mouth slightly open and her brow knit in confusion.

“You shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Dis said softly, and Bilbo curled in on himself, the images replaying in his mind over and over again. “It shouldn’t have been that easy.” She finally noticed Bilbo’s position. “Bilbo?” Dis reached out to touch his shoulder gently and Bilbo buried his face into the blanket on his bed, making a soft groaning sound in his voice.

Dis remained still for a minute, silently offering any help, before she stood from the bed, collecting the empty plate and mug. Her boots scuffed over the stone floor quietly and the door creaked as she opened and closed it.

Bilbo didn’t pay any attention to the scrape of the board being dragged across the door. He couldn’t focus on anything except that final image of the female Hobbit leaving the camp. He knew her. Even when she was decades younger, Bilbo knew who the Hobbit was. She was Belladonna, his mother.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh-Duh-Duh! A plot twist!
> 
> I honestly don't have a lot to say right now, so I think I'll go have some lunch and get my readings done for class. At least they're not too bad right now. I don't know if I'll be able to write another chapter today. It's my dad's birthday and we have plans to have a special dinner with my two older sisters. So, maybe I'll have some time to write a chapter later. Who knows?
> 
> You write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D


	17. The Curiosities of Dori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm sorry about the wait for this chapter. I had a bit of writer's block while writing it, but an idea popped into my head during class, so, ta-dah! A new chapter. I hope you enjoy it. I have quite a bit of homework to do tonight, so I probably won't be able to get another chapter written today
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Curiosities of Dori**

Bofur dragged the charcoal over the parchment carefully, his tongue between his teeth. He kept one ear trained on the tent he was leaning against, listening as his cousin, Bifur, spoke with a mother Dwarf and her beardling. Bifur had practically begged to come to the market today and Bombur had to work, so that left Bofur to tag along and keep an eye on their cousin.

While Bifur focused on selling the toys he made, Bofur had chosen to settle down on a stool beside the entrance, a slab of wood spread over his lap to act as a makeshift desk. He spent most of the morning sketching simple designs for toys that Bifur could make. He knew that Bifur would appreciate the gesture. His cousin had a harder time coming up with toys on his own, but he could add all sorts of little intricacies to them, adding to the delight children showed when a bird not only flapped it wings but flew off the stick a short way.

Bofur paused in his sketching and frowned at the parchment. He’d been having a pretty successful day with the planning, but then something had somehow interrupted him. What had begun as a leaf blade for something a child could blow on to move the blades in a circle had managed to morph in the drawing of a dog. And not just any dog. A shepherd.

Bofur sighed and let the charcoal fall onto the makeshift desk. He let his head fall back until it thumped gently against the tent pole. It was pointless trying to draw anymore. Now that the Skin-Changer was on his mind, there was no way Bofur would be able to think about anything else. He wondered how it was doing, and if Thorin had managed to introduce himself yet. If he had, he’d probably managed to make a mess of it. Thorin might be an excellent king, but he had terrible communication skills.

“Good afternoon, Bofur,” a soft voice from beside Bofur.

Bofur jerked slightly and looked up, startled—he hadn’t noticed anyone walking up to him. He grinned when he noticed it was Dori. The silver-haired Dwarf wore his hair and beard in its usual tightly woven braids and carried a basket over his arm. The maroon tunic looked slightly worse for wear, as if Dori had forgotten to wash it lately. A frown formed on Dori’s lips and Bofur gave him a sloppy grin.

“Afternoon, Dori,” Bofur said. He straightened up slightly on his stool. “What are ye doing at the market? I haven’t seen ye in a while.”

Dori sighed and held up his basket. “I ran out of tea leaves,” he said regretfully. “And I’m afraid I can’t concentrate without them.”

Bofur nodded sagely. “Ye’re back at work, then?” he asked and Dori nodded, though he didn’t look too happy about it.

Dori ran a small tailor shop in his own home. While he wasn’t the most well-known tailor in the Blue Mountains, Dori was still in high demand. The business made a fair sum of money and Dori was able to fund Ori’s education as a scribe. Unfortunately, he did not make enough to keep Nori out of trouble.

“I still have orders coming in,” Dori said. “And if I don’t’ fill them, I could lose my whole clientele.”

“Well,” Bofur said. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we? What else are ye getting today?” Dori shot him a look, silently asking him to mind his own business, and Bofur returned it with an innocent expression. “A Dwarf can be curious, can’t he?”

“If you must know,” Dori said. “I also need cloth and food.” He glanced down at the drawing on the makeshift table. “What’s that?”

“This?” Bofur looked down at the charcoal drawing of the shepherd and quickly flipped it over. “It’s nothing.”

“I saw something.” Dori leaned down and reached for the parchment. Bofur tried to block him, but Dori simply batted his hands away and Bofur relented, tucking his hands into his lap and looking anywhere but Dori as the Dwarf examined the drawing critically.

“This wouldn’t happen to be the new Skin-Changer, would it?” Dori asked. Bofur hummed affirmatively in the back of his throat. “A dog,” Dori said, still eyeing the drawing. “He chose a dog.”

“A shepherd,” Bofur corrected him and Dori looked at him with a slightly startled expression.

“A shepherd?” Dori repeated. He looked at the drawing then back at Bofur. “What other form did he take?” He looked thoughtful as he asked the question, as if he was trying to find an answer to a puzzle. “It wasn’t a Hobbit, was it?”

Bofur shot up on his stool and nearly fell off. The makeshift desk clattered onto the ground and he ignored the surprised looks he got from the Dwarves around him. “How’d ye know?” he asked. “We didn’t tell anyone about him.”

Dori opened and closed his mouth before quickly handing the drawing back to Bofur. He took it, still waiting expectantly for an answer. Finally, Dori wrinkled his nose in irritation. “What did he look like?”

Bofur shrugged. “A Hobbit, I guess,” he said. “I wasn’t really paying any attention.”

“Did he have blond curls?” Dori pressed. “Maybe darker eyes than most Skin-Changers?”

“I suppose ye could say his hair was blond,” Bofur said. “More gold, really. Kind of like summer wheat.” Dori mouthed Bofur’s words, silently repeating them. “Why’d ye want to know?” Bofur asked curiously.

“It’s nothing,” Dori said curtly. “I really do need to get to my shopping.” He turned and hurried away from the stall, his basket swinging wildly on his arm.

Bifur stuck his head out of the tent and peered down at his cousin, babbling to him in Khuzdul.

“Aye,” Bofur said, rubbing his head. “Ye’re right there. He was acting a little strange.”

Bifur spoke again, ignoring the beardling who had stopped and was tugging on his mother’s hand, pointing at one of the small, flying bird toys.

Bofur shot his cousin a sharp look. “Ye don’t say that,” he scolded. “Dori’s having a rough time, with Ori’s disappearance, and all. He’ll relax when they bring Ori home.”

Bifur scowled and pulled his head back into the stall. He went over to the mother and her beardling and began speaking with them, taking one of the birds and cranking its small handles until it took off, beating its wings quickly.

Bofur sighed and picked up his makeshift drawing table before he leaned back against the tent pole. He watched mothers pass by, holding onto their beardling’s hands tightly and refusing to let go. It was certainly strange times. His eyes flitted to the guards set at the East and West Gates. The North and South Gates had been closed for the time being. Beardlings disappearing and Skin-Changers in the mountains. Bofur sighed. It was certainly strange times.

 

“You did what?” Thorin’s thunderous voice echoed in the small room and Dis actually stepped back a step before she steeled herself and straightened up, glaring at her brother. Dwalin frowned in disapproval at Thorin’s tone.

“I shared with him,” Dis snapped, scowling at her brother. Sometimes he could be one of the dullest Dwarves she knew. “He asked me what bonding was and I thought to let him experience it for himself. Don’t you think he has the right to know?”

“You could have allowed me to explain it to him,” Thorin said, returning his sister’s scowl. Dwalin looked between the two of them, as if watching some sort of tossing game. “I should be the one teaching him about this, not you.”

“Then actually speak to him,” Dis said, her voice pleading. She needed her brother to actually listen to her for once in his life. “Bilbo has the right to know what he should expect.”

“Bilbo?” Thorin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Who is Bilbo?” Even Dwalin stopped looking between the siblings and turned his full attention on Dis. She held her chin higher and planted her fists on her hips.

“The Skin-Changer,” Dis said. “His name is Bilbo Baggins. And as far as he knows, he’s a Hobbit and nothing else. No one has ever told him about Skin-Changers before.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Thorin scoffed. “Of course he would know about Skin-Changers. His mother, at least, was a Skin-Changer.” Dwalin frowned thoughtfully but said nothing. He seemed to be thinking about something.

Dis nodded. “His mother, yes,” she said, then added softly, “Or both of his parents.” Thorin and Dwalin both looked at her quizzically. “When I started sharing with him,” Dis explained. “I showed him everything I was feeling. I wanted Bilbo to know he could trust me.”

“What happened?” Dwalin asked, speaking up for the first time since the argument had started.

Dis took a deep breath. She wasn’t quite sure how Dwalin and Thorin would take her news. “He went deeper than just emotions,” Dis said. Dwalin’s confusion cleared and he stared at Dis in shock while Thorin remained looking confused.

“I don’t understand,” Thorin said. “What do you mean he went deeper?” Dis opened her mouth to reply, but Dwalin spoke first.

“Ye can do it when ye’re bonded,” Dwalin said. “Ye can show them images of sorts.”

“What sort of images?” Thorin asked, looking curious. Dis refrained from rolling her eyes. Trust her brother only to become curious about something when he needed it most.

Dwalin shrugged. “Ye can show them what ye’re seein’ at the time, or ye can show them what ye’ve seen.”

“You mean to tell me,” Thorin said. “That you can show a bonded Skin-Changer something you’ve seen or are seeing at the time?” Both Dis and Dwalin nodded and Thorin turned to glare at his sister. “And you’ve bonded with him already?”

Dis’ mouth fell open. This was what her brother had gleaned from that? That she had managed to bond with Bilbo? “Of course not,” she said. “I would never bond with another Skin-Changer. I can’t.”

“Then how did you manage to share with Bilbo?” Thorin snapped. “You said you could share with whom you were bonded to.” Dis threw her hands into the air and motioned for Dwalin to answer. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to speak to her brother without smacking him.

“Ye can share with more than just who ye’re bonded to,” Dwalin explained. He paused to allow another question, but Thorin remained silent, frowning, and Dwalin continued. “Ye can share with anyone related to them.”

Dis nodded. “I shared with Hildifons many times,” she said. “And Dwalin did the same for Belladonna. We didn’t have as strong a connection with each other, but if we concentrated hard enough we could show them anything we wanted.”

“Gave us bloomin’ headaches, is what it did,” Dwalin muttered. “She kept bitin’ my nose.” Dis clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to hide her snickers. By the glare fixed on her by Dwalin, she must have failed. She still remembered that day, when Belladonna too every chance she had to snap her teeth on Dwalin’s nose. No one quite new why, but it remained her fixation for nearly a month.

“Then you could share with Bungo?” Thorin asked, looking between Dwalin and Dis. Both of them shook their heads.

“He wasn’t related to them by blood,” Dis said. “The only ones who could share with him were Grandfather, _Adad_ , and,” Dis’ voice broke and she blinked back the burning sensation in her eyes, “Frerin. They could all share with him. We couldn’t.”

Thorin leaned back in his chair. “So, you could share with Bilbo,” he murmured. His brow furrowed in thought. “But if you could share with him and you’re not bonded to him then that means . . ..” Thorin’s eyes widened. “He’s related,” he said softly, looking up at Dis. “He’s related to Belladonna and Hildifons.”

Dwalin appeared to have reached the same conclusion, because he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his head and looking relatively shocked. Dis could understand the shocked look on his face. She had no idea who Bilbo’s parents were, but if his father was Hildifons, it would be like Dwalin had gained his own son. It wasn’t uncommon for a Dwarf to become closely attached the offspring of their bonded. They even played a large role in raising them alongside the Skin-Changer.

“Did he tell you who his parents were?” Thorin asked and Dis shook her head.

“All I could tell was that seeing them with the Dwarves had upset him,” Dis said softly. “I don’t think his parents ever told him where they came from.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Thorin said. “Why would they want to hide their heritage?” Dis opened her mouth to respond, but a knock sounded on the door, interrupting their conversation. Thorin shared a look with Dis, silently asking her to remain quiet about their discussion, and Dis nodded.

Thorin stood from his chair and clasped his hands behind his back. “Enter,” he said in a clear, commanding voice. The door opened, admitting their guest, and Thorin’s eyes widened in surprise. Dis frowned and turned around to find out who had entered the room and she too stared in surprise.

Dori stood in the doorway, clutching a basket he seemed to have forgotten. It was filled with a few small parcels that Dis could only guess were tea and other various food items. Dori cleared his throat and bowed deeply to both Dis and Thorin.

“I apologize if I interrupted anything,” Dori said. “But I wished to come speak with you about the Skin-Changer.”

The three of them looked at Dori in surprise before Dis hurried to shut the door and heard Thorin say, “I thought you told them to keep quiet.” She turned around just in time to see Dwalin shrug.

“It wasn’t the guards, I assure you,” Dori said and Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. “It was one of the servants.”

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose. “A servant?” he asked and Dori nodded. “Which one?”

“Well.” Dori fiddled with the handle on his basket. “I’d rather not say. I mean, she didn’t mean any harm when she told me.”

“She?” Thorin repeated. “It was a she?” He turned to Dwalin. “How many servants do we have that are female?” Dwalin spread his hands out, shaking his head. Thorin swore. “I thought we weren’t going to tell any of the servants.” He turned to Dori and was beginning to look even more nervous. “What was her name?” Thorin demanded.

“Oh, knock it.” Dis moved to stand beside Dori and linked her arm through his. “He simply came to speak with us, not be interrogated.” Thorin opened his mouth to reply but sighed instead.

“Very well,” Thorin said. He turned his attention back to Dori. “What would you like to speak about?”

Dori cleared his throat once more. A nervous habit Dis had seen before, when she’d first began patronizing his tailor shop. She rather preferred his simple styles to the lavish one’s other tailors attempted to dress her in.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” Dori said. “He has a Hobbit form, and any clothes we have are most likely ill-fitting for him.” Dwalin and Thorin both stared at him and Dori’s cheeks reddened slightly. Dis simply smiled and nudged for him to continue. “Bofur told me,” he admitted.

“Bofur,” Dwalin groaned. “Why did we trust him in the first place? He never stops talkin’.”

Thorin sighed but made no comment about the toymaker. “What is you would like, Master Dori?” It sounded like he attempted a friendly tone of voice, but Dis almost smacked him. The least he could do was act less kingly.

“Well,” Dori said. “I was wondering if I might be able to make him a wardrobe. I would have to schedule a fitting, of course, but I wouldn’t charge much.” The red began to creep past his cheeks and over his face. “I’m sure he would appreciate some clothes that actually fit him.”

Thorin stared at Dori, as if wondering if the Dwarf was actually asking this of him. Dori began to stammer out an apology, saying that what he’d just said was nonsense, and Dis stopped him by squeezing his arm.

“Of course,” she said. “We’ll schedule a fitting with you as soon as we can. And we’ll expect nothing but the best,” she added, glaring at her brother. “I’m sure Thorin would agree, don’t you?”

Thorin sighed. “Of course,” he said. “Nothing but the best.”

Dori nodded shakily and turned to leave. Dis kept her arm linked with his and exited the room. They walked until they were out of earshot and she pulled Dori to a stop. Unlinking their arms, Dis placed a hand on Dori’s forearm.

“Dori,” she said softly. “I want you to know we’re doing everything we can to find Ori.”

Dori gave her a weak smile. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s been rather hard lately. I keep expecting to see him when I wake up in the morning.”

Dis smiled comfortingly and squeezed his arm. “We’ll find him, don’t worry.”

Dori nodded and turned on his wheel, wishing Dis a good day as he headed down the hallway. Dis watched him leave, her hands folded primly in front of her until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Dis’ face hardened almost instantly and she spun around on her heel and marched back to the Thorin’s study. She had a brother to scold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are. Yet another mystery to be solved. I really need to stop coming up with these, or I'm going to start losing track of them. But, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I certainly enjoyed writing it. See you next time!
> 
> P.S. Who the heck wants to read Chaucer?! I didn't understand a lick of it!


	18. The Council of Thorin Oakenshield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I cannot feel my fingers at the moment, it is so cold, so please forgive any mistakes I've made. As much as I hate writer's block (and I really, really hate it) it's also been a little helpful. I wouldn't have come up with these scenes without it. And Pollux. She helped a lot too. 
> 
> I'm going to let you get to the story now, so that I can try and get the blood flowing in my hands before they freeze off.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Council of Thorin Oakenshield**

Fili stared at the parchment laying on the table before him, tuning out Ginnar. The Dwarf lord had begun talking about how the mines were coming along and the difference between what they had harvested last year and what they could harvest this year. It certainly didn’t interest Fili at all, but Thorin insisted that he sit in on the councils. He said it would be an important lesson for Fili when he was King.

Something bumped against Fili’s boot and he jerked upright. He caught Thorin’s amused glance and he straightened up in his chair, focusing on what Ginnar was saying.

“As you can see,” Ginnar wheezed. “We can expect-.” He paused to look down at his notes, patting down his large gray beard to see over it—a few Dwarves snickered. “We can expect a very good harvest of silver this year. I think it will do very well for our trade with the Men.”

“Thank you, Ginnar.” Thorin bowed his head to the Dwarf. “I am pleased to hear of your progress in the mines.”

Ginnar smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he reached back for the arm of his chair, grasping blindly for it. Beside him, Nali took his arm gently and guided him down in his chair. Despite the snickers Fili had heard, many of the Dwarves in the chamber looked at Ginnar with some form of respect. Even Thorin allowed the Dwarf a moment to settle into his chair before turning to the younger Dwarf sitting next to Ginnar.

“Nali,” Thorin said. The council members turned to look at the Dwarf. “How have the fields been doing this year?”

“Very well, my Lord,” Nali said. “I believe we will have more than enough for this coming winter.”

A satisfied grumbled echoed through the chamber, several of the Dwarves nodding their heads, pleased with the news. Nali fingered the parchment in front of him, and eyed the council members nervously. Fili leaned forward slightly. The Dwarf looked like he had something else he wanted to say, something he thought the council wouldn’t like. Beside him, Thorin steepled his fingers, a sure sign he was preparing himself for bad news.

“What else?” Thorin asked.

Nali took a deep breath in. “One of the Dwarves who works in the field, noticed something when he was returning to the mountain.” He peered about the chamber. “He fetched Jari to look at it and Jari came to me.” He paused and took a deep breath. “It was a wolf track.”

A stunned silence filled the chamber. No one had heard of wolves in the mountains for nearly a decade. They had all been driven out after the last attack on the Mountain’s livestock. Beside Fili, Thorin frowned thoughtfully.

“You’re sure it was a wolf?” Thorin asked. “It could have just as easily been a dog.”

Several council members nodded in agreement. A few of them even looked hopeful, as if they didn’t want to deal with wolves again.

Nali shook his head. “It was a wolf track, my Lord,” he said and a groan rose from the gathered Dwarves.

“I’ll gather some Dwarves,” Hannar said. “We’ll hunt every last of the beasts down. We can’t lose another flock to them. Not this year.” A murmur of agreement rippled through the Dwarves.

“These aren’t ordinary wolves,” Nali said softly. “Jari fetched me when they found another track. My Lord,” he said this directly to Thorin, “this wolf is the size of a full-grown bull, at least.”

The council remained silent for a brief moment and then exploded into shouts.

“That’s not a wolf,” Hannar growled. “That’s a Warg!” Fear showed on several of the Dwarves faces.

“Where there’s Wargs, there’s Orcs,” A Dwarf said.

“How long have they been hiding in our woods? They could attack us at any time.”

Fili looked to each Dwarf as he spoke, a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. Wolves were one thing, the Dwarves could hunt them easily, but Orcs were a completely different thing. They would need to gather a small army together to combat them.

“That’s enough,” Thorin said, but the Dwarves ignored him.

“If we do nothing, they’ll attack us.”

Thorin gritted his teeth and rose from the table, but a voice spoke out, silencing all the other Dwarves.

“Wouldn’t you think they would have attacked us already?” Loni said. He sat at the other end of the table, across from Thorin, his hands folded neatly on top of his stack of parchment. “If there truly Orcs near us, they would have slain all of us already.”

Thorin sank back into his chair and Fili watched him, glancing between his Uncle and Loni, who continued to speak.

“Really,” Loni said with a sigh. “Only a fool would think there were Orcs in the forest.”

A few of the Dwarves looked abashed and a thunderous expression covered Nali’s face. He and Loni had quarreled several times during council meetings. Fili had only seen them argue once, and Nali had been tight-lipped the whole time, coldly trading words with the Broadbeam.

“How do we truly know there is a wolf this size in the forest?” Loni asked. Several of the Dwarves shared uncertain glances. “We don’t.” Loni turned to Nali. “No one has actually seen these wolves you speak of.” Nali’s face turned a brilliant shade of red. “But if you are so adamant about the existence of these creatures, then I suppose we must do something.”

Fili glanced at Thorin, wondering if he was going to say anything. Loni was speaking as if he was King under the Mountain, and not the other way around. Thorin showed no sign of saying anything to Loni, he only watched the Dwarf Lord with a frown on his face. Fili hands clenched into fists in his lap. This wasn’t right. Thorin should be speaking up, not allowing Loni to speak as if he were King.

“Send out your best hunters into the forest,” Loni told Hannar. “Have them follow these tracks and kill whatever monstrous wolves may live in the forest.”

Hannar raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me, _Lord_ Loni,” he said. “But I don’t take orders from you.” He turned to Thorin. “What would you have me do, _my Lord_?” He shot a glance back at Loni, as if silently telling him off for giving him a command. Loni scowled at him and Fili gave a silent cheer. At least one Dwarf knew where his loyalties.

“Go out with your best hunter,” Thorin said softly. “Take Nali with you and see if you can find these tracks. If you find them, follow them but do nothing else. If these wolves are truly as large as Nali claims they are, I don’t want any of you injured should you try hunting them.”

Hannar bowed his head, silently accepting the orders, while several of the Dwarves nodded their own heads in agreement. Fili eyed his uncle. Thorin had remained calm even while Loni was handing out orders. He didn’t yell at the Dwarf Lord about his place or argue with his decision.

“And what if these Wolves truly exist?” Loni demanded. “A pack of wolves can eat a single sheep. Imagine what a single wolf of this size could eat! They could finish off an entire flock in one night!”

“I’ve made my decision,” Thorin said softly. “If you are so worried about the livestock, then have them brought in from their usual grazing.” He turned to Nali. “Would you be able to spare some Dwarves to harvest grass for the livestock?”

“Aye, my Lord,” Nali said. “I’ll cut enough to see us through this.”

Thorin nodded. “I will have Dwalin assign our best guards to the fields. If the wolves should attack the Dwarves out there, I don’t wish for them to be undefended.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Nali said. He looked both relieved and grateful at the news. “It will be a relief to know they will be safe.”

Thorin accepted the gratitude silently and turned the council as a whole. “If anyone has anything else they wish to speak about, now would be the time.” The council remained silent, a few of the Dwarves shuffling their stacks of parchments. Thorin nodded. “Then we end here,” he said. “We meet again in a week’s time.”

The Dwarves rose from their chairs one by one, muttering to each other softly. Nali aided Ginnar from his chair, allowing Ginnar to lean against his arm as Nali led him out of the chamber. Fili turned to his uncle.

“How could you let Loni say those things?” Fili asked in a whisper.

Thorin frowned. “Lord Loni, Fili,” he said. “And he has been good to us. If it weren’t for him, we would still be wandering about in the mountains.”

“That still doesn’t give him the right to speak like that,” Fili muttered. He glared down the table at Loni, who seemed to be listening only half-heartedly as **RD** spoke to him. “He’s a lord, not a king.”

“You will understand one day,” Thorin said. He reached over and ruffled Fili’s hair. Fili ducked under his hand and shoved it away. “For now, refrain from saying anything rash to him. Lord Loni will take any chance to see fault in someone.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Fili said.

“Thank you,” Thorin said, then added, “And tell Kili that neither of you are allowed to hunt for the next few weeks.”

Fili stared at Thorin in disbelief, his mouth hanging open slightly. “But, Uncle-”

“Don’t argue with me, Fili,” Thorin said. “No one will be hunting for the next few weeks. Not until we have this wolf problem situated.”

Fili closed his mouth and frowned. Kili wasn’t going to like this. He took every chance he had to sneak out of the mountain to go hunting. When he found out they wouldn’t be allowed out, Kili would throw a fit.

“Tell me, Thorin,” Loni called from the other end of the table. The buzz of conversations dimmed slightly, but the Dwarves continued to speak to one another, only half-listening to Loni. “Is it true you finally caught a Skin-Changer?” The Dwarves in the chamber froze, looking between their King and the Dwarf Lord.

Thorin frowned. “How did he find out about that?” he muttered under his breath.

Fili shot a glare at Loni, who returned it with a smirk. No one in the mountain was supposed to know about the Skin-Changer. Beside Fili, Thorin gave a deep sigh and sat back.

“The rumors are true,” Thorin said. “Earlier this week, a Skin-Changer was brought into this mountain.”

“Then where is it?” Loni asked. “Surely, you’ve tamed the beast by now.”

Fili moved to rise from his chair, but Thorin grabbed his arm and muttered, “Fili, don’t.” Fili sat back into his chair, his hands clenching into fists.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to form a bond with the Skin-Changer,” Thorin said. Several of the Dwarves in the chamber grumbled and Fili’s heart quickened. If word of this spread through the mountain, it would make Thorin look weak.

“You haven’t bonded with it?” Loni scoffed. “How hard is it to bond with a Skin-Changer? It’s only an animal, after all.”

Fili shot out of his chair, jerking his arm out of Thorin’s grip. “You’re wrong,” he snarled, his hands clenched tightly against his breeches.

Loni leered at Fili. “And what am I wrong about, beardling?” He spoke in a soft but dangerous voice.

Fili gritted his teeth and ignored the insult. “He’s not an animal. He’s the same as us.” Somewhere in the crowd, a Dwarf gasped. “He thinks and acts like we do.”

Thorin rose from his chair and took Fili’s arm, turning him away from Loni. “That’s enough,” he muttered, but pushed him away.

“If you think Thorin will force a bond with him, you’re wrong,” Fili snapped. “He’s nothing like you.”

Thorin’s grip tightened on Fili’s arm and he jerked him so suddenly, that Fili stumbled after his uncle as Thorin dragged him out of the chamber. Fili tugged on his wrist, but Thorin continued to drag him along, turning several corners before he stopped. Turning around, he released Fili’s arm, fixing his nephew with a glare.

“I asked you not to say anything to Lord Loni,” Thorin said softly. “And what did you do?”

Massaging his arm, Fili looked down at the floor, flushing. “I yelled at him,” he muttered. He looked up at his uncle, his embarrassment disappearing. “But he insulted the Skin-Changer,” he said. “He acted as if he was some kind of animal.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin corrected and Fili stared at his uncle in confusion. “The Skin-Changer’s name is Bilbo.” Fili’s eyes widened. How did his uncle find out the Skin-Changer’s name? “And he’s nothing like us.”

Fili opened his mouth to protest, to defend Bilbo, but Thorin held up a hand, silencing him.

“Skin-Changers have a gift neither you nor I will ever be able to comprehend,”  
 Thorin said. “There are some who would seek to use that gift for their own gain.”

“And you think Loni is one of them,” Fili said softly. Thorin placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled gently.

“Lord Loni, Fili,” Thorin said. “And there have been rumors.”

“Rumors of what?” Fili asked, but Thorin only shook his head.

“I won’t speak of it here,” Thorin said. He jerked his head to the hallway. “Go find your brother and head to weapons practice. I’ll Dwalin catch up once I’ve spoken with him.”

Fili frowned but did as Thorin said, turning and heading down the hallway. He eyed a tapestry with two dragons—one red and one black—soaring over a mountain, breathing flames at each other. He wished Thorin would trust him enough to tell him what Loni was up to. Fili barely knew the Dwarf, yet he already felt like the Dwarf Lord was up to something.

 

Bilbo allowed Dis to drag him along gently by the wrist. She had visited him shortly after breakfast and asked if he was up for a little “unexpected journey” as she called it. Her only request was that he stay in Hobbit form—which Bilbo was more than happy to oblige, he still ached from the last incident. The guards had attempted to stop them from leaving, but Dis had silenced every one of their arguments and dragged Bilbo out of his cell—he refused to consider it anything else—and down the hallway. The guards must have alerted someone, because after a short while Dwalin had appeared, trailing after the pair silently.

“You never told me where we were going,” Bilbo said. He glanced back at Dwalin, who had been studying him intently. The Dwarf looked away quickly, his gaze floating up to the ceiling. Bilbo followed his gaze and eyed the stone curiously. Several diamond-like objects had been placed in the ceiling and light shone through them, lighting up the hallway.

“You’re quite right,” Dis said, tapping a finger against her chin. “But, I don’t think I need to bother.”

“Why not?” Bilbo tore his gaze away from the ceiling and nearly ran into Dis when she suddenly stopped.

Dis grinned down at Bilbo in an almost childish manner and gestured at the door. “Because we’re here,” she said. Bilbo eyed the blank wooden door critically and Dis laughed. “Trust me. It looks much nicer on the inside.” She opened the door and pushed Bilbo through gently, then stepped in herself. She must have stopped Dwalin from following them in because Bilbo heard her say, “I’m not going to have a problem keeping him in here, so you can run along.” She shut the door tightly and turned around, beaming at Bilbo. “What do you think?” she asked.

Confused, Bilbo stared at the circular room before him. He’d never seen a room like it before. Several doors lined the room’s walls and chairs sat, scattered, about the room. A large table had been set in the center, a soft glow illuminating the dark wood. Bilbo peeked up at the ceiling. A window. How had these Dwarves managed to set a window into stone?

“I thought Dwarves lived in the dark?” The question came out before Bilbo could stop himself and his eyes widened. He whipped around, mortified. “Not that I think you’re all cave-dwellers,” he began.

Dis laughed and waved a hand. “Technically speaking, we are cave-dwellers,” she admitted. “But we also like our light. These rooms are closer to the surface, so we put windows in to let some sunlight in.”

“And those diamonds in the ceiling?” Bilbo asked. “What are they for?”

“Diamonds?” Dis looked confused for a moment. “Oh! You mean the prisms. Those are made of glass.” Bilbo stared at her. “They reflect the sunlight,” Dis explained. “It helps to lighten up the hallways. It would have been a hassle to have windows installed in all of the hallways.”

“I see.” Bilbo turned around and eyed the room critically. “And this room?” he asked. “Is it some kind of chamber you keep Skin-Changers in?”

“Keep Skin-Changers in?” Dis repeated. “Of course not!” As she spoke one of the doors opened and a young Dwarf maiden stepped out, drying her hands on a cloth. She flushed when she spotted Dis and Bilbo. “I trust it’s ready?” Dis asked in a kind voice and the Dwarf nodded quickly, stepping out of the way. Dis ushered Bilbo forward and into the room.

“Lura is one of our staff,” Dis said as she closed the door. “I trust her enough to keep things quiet.”

Bilbo didn’t hear a word Dis said. He was too busy staring at the center of the room, where a copper tub stood in the center, steam rising from the water. A bathhouse. Dis had brought to him what appeared to be a bathhouse. He scratched absentmindedly at his arm. After over a week on the road, he was more than ready for a bath.

“I trust you know how to take a bath on your own?” Dis asked, and Bilbo nodded slowly, still staring at the tub. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” The door opened and closed.

Bilbo glanced behind himself, staring at the empty space where Dis had just been standing. He was alone. For the first time in what felt like forever, he was actually alone. True, Dwalin was most likely standing guard at the door and scaring every Dwarf who passed by, but Bilbo was left alone in a room without a lock.

He moved to the side of the tub and dipped a hand in the water. Warmth shot up his nerves and Bilbo shivered, undressing quickly and scrambling into the tub. It was a little large for him—he was a Hobbit, after all—but he didn’t mind the water coming up to this chin. He spotted a bar of soap sitting on the edge of the tub and he grabbed it, scrubbing at the week worth of dirt on his skin and hair. He dunked under water to rinse off and scrubbed at his hair.

“Getting me to change into a dog,” Bilbo muttered. “Don’t they know how much dirt you pick up?” He dunked under again then leaned back, staring up at the glass diamond set into the ceiling. Was this what his mother’s mountain had looked like, or had their bathhouses been grander?

Bilbo looked around himself, taking in the mosaic fish that had been set into the wall. Bilbo wasn’t sure what kind they were or if he could even change into one of them. He had had a few problems with some animals, after all. Like the rave. No matter how hard Bilbo tried, he simply could change into a raven. He could change into something that resembled a raven, but Hildifons had told him it wasn’t the exact bird.

A knock echoed on the door and Bilbo sat up, staring at it. The young Dwarf maiden poked her head in and flushed, quickly pulling her head out. “I have cloths,” she said and Bilbo smiled. “Lady Dis asked me to take them to you.”

“It’s alright to come in,” Bilbo said.

The Dwarf hurried in, a small bundle of clothes in her arm. She set them on a stool next to the tub and picked up the clothes Bilbo had left strewn on the floor. He felt a little bad for that as he watched her gather them. He’d never had anyone serve him besides a simple gardener.

“You must not speak a lot of Common Tongue,” Bilbo said gently.

The Dwarf flushed and shook her head. “ _Amad_ and _Adad_ are learning me,” she said. “But I still have a lot ways to go.”

“A long way to go,” Bilbo corrected. He berated himself as soon as the words had slipped out of his mouth. Here he was giving Common Tongue lessons to someone while he was sitting stark naked in a bathtub. What on earth was he thinking?

“Long way to go,” the Dwarf repeated, then gave a single nod. “Thank you.” She curtsied to Bilbo and hurried from the room.

Bilbo leaned back, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Talking to her while you’re in the bathtub,” he muttered. “You really are desperate.” He dunked under water one more time before climbing out of the tub and drying himself off with a drying cloth. He dressed quickly into the clothes the Dwarf maiden had brought him—the air was rather cold now that he was out of the tub—and headed for the door.

Bilbo had run into many people and things when he had walked out of doors before—even a wizard, once—but he had never run into something so sturdy he fell back onto the floor. He looked up, blinking, and nearly screeched in surprise.

The young dark-haired Dwarf—the one he had bitten—stood in front of Bilbo, looking equally shocked. His mind seemed to catch up him and he bent down quickly. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

He reached for Bilbo’s hand and Bilbo jerked back, stumbling to his feet. The Dwarf straightened up, looking a little hurt. Bilbo leaned around the Dwarf, peeking into the room. No one else was in the room. The Dwarf glanced over his shoulder.

“ _Amad_ is outside with Dwalin,” the Dwarf said. “She said she wanted to talk to him about something. She didn’t say anything about you being here.” He frowned at Bilbo. “What were you doing in there?” Bilbo raised an eyebrow and the Dwarf flushed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Forgot.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment before Bilbo stepped around the Dwarf. “I think Dis will want to know I’m finished in there.”

The Dwarf gave him a lopsided grin. “Figures _Amad_ would be the one to bring you here,” he said. “She likes to show off the mountain whenever she can. Even gives tours to Dain every time he visits.”

“What does that mean?” Bilbo asked. “ _Amad_?”

“It means ‘mother.’” The Dwarf looked confused. “You don’t know that word?” Bilbo shook his head and the Dwarf stared at him in disbelief. “I figured you would know at least a little Khuzdul. You’re parents were from Erebor, weren’t they?”

“You could say that,” Bilbo said dryly.

“What do you mean?”

“My mother never told me where she was from,” Bilbo told the Dwarf. “She always left me to believe she’d grown up in the Shire.”

“What about your _Adad_?” the Dwarf asked. “Your father?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I never knew him,” he said. “He died before I was born.”

“Before you were born?” the Dwarf asked excitedly. “Then you could be Bungo’s son!”

Bilbo’s heart nearly stopped at the name of his father. “Bungo?” he said softly. “Who’s Bungo?”

“He’s was my uncle’s Skin-Changer,” the Dwarf said. “He was huge!” He spread his arms out, as if trying to show off how large Bungo had been. “Uncle says he was big enough to lift boulders the size of this room.” The Dwarf let his arms fall to his sides.

“What on earth was he?” Bilbo asked in alarm. He had never heard of an animal large enough to lift boulders that size.

“A Dragon, of course,” the Dwarf said. Bilbo stared at the Dwarf, whose grin slowly melted off his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I didn’t know Skin-Changers could change into Dragons,” Bilbo said quickly. _Like Grandpapa_ , he added silently.

“Of course they can,” the Dwarf said. “But only the ones who are directly from the first Dragon.”

“And who might that be?” Bilbo asked, feeling a little light-headed. He had a feeling he already knew.

“Smaug the Invincible,” the Dwarf said proudly. “He was so big, his shadow could cover an entire mountain.”

“And what happened to him?”

The Dwarf shrugged. “Nobody knows,” he said. “He just sort of disappeared a long time ago. Some Dwarves think he died.”

_Or maybe he just went to sleep,_ Bilbo thought. _A very, very deep and long sleep_.

“Kili!” Both Dwarf and Hobbit jumped. Dis had somehow managed to open the door without either of them noticing. “How long have you been keeping the poor thing?”

The young Dwarf—Kili—looked abashed. “Sorry, _Amad_. I was just telling him about the Dragons.”

Dis walked over to them, a frown on her face. “I think he has plenty going on in his mind right now,” she said. She took Bilbo’s wrist gently. “Why don’t you come along? I’m sure lunch is ready for you now.” She fixed a stern look on Kili. “And Fili is waiting for you outside. He said it’s time for training.”

“Alright,” Kili muttered. He scooted around the pair of them and headed out the door.

“Come along now.” Dis led Bilbo out of the room and they headed down the hallway, Dwalin trailing after them.

Bilbo glanced at a tapestry with a red dragon hovering over a mountain, its wings spread out. The last phrase of a story Belladonna used to tell him echoed through his mind. _And the Prince flew away to settle in a land filled green hills, and went to sleep for a very, very long time_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun historical fact! King Henry VIII was the first King to use the title "Your Majesty." He created his own church and he wanted himself to be considered the higher power, so he forced people to use that title. Before that, kings were called "My Lord." I've chosen to use this term for all kings mentioned in this story, rather than "Your Majesty."
> 
> And a quick quiz question for all of you. Linguists are not sure where the word "pie" comes from, but they believe it may come from a bird that was used to fill these tasty treats. Can anyone name the bird?


	19. The Treaty of Bilbo and Thorin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I got a second chapter written this week! It took me a couple hours and I successfully avoided homework with it, but I got it done! :D
> 
> Kudos to Yoru_Hana for answering the quiz question correctly! Yes, linguists believe that the word "pie" might come from the actual magpie, which was known simply as the "pie" until around the 16th Century. Apparently they used to bake magpies into pies. It doesn't sound very appetizing to me.
> 
> As a reward for the answer, I will let you know now that the magpie is going to be one of Bilbo's forms. But we won't be baking him into pies, because that's downright cruel.
> 
> After all of that, I'll let you get to the chapter.
> 
> Happy reading!

**The Treaty of Bilbo and Thorin**

 

Bilbo stared at his arm, watching as the bones shifted underneath his skin and his fingers began to meld together, forming a single bone until the changing suddenly stilled. He eyed the grotesque shape of his arm critically. If he allowed the change to continue, the rest of his body would follow suit, shrinking and hollowing his bones until his entire body had changed into that of a bird.

Leaning back against the wall, Bilbo took a deep breath in and pictured a Hobbit or at least what he’d seen of himself in mirrors. A familiar itching sensation travelled up his arm and bones shifted back into their original position. Bilbo risked taking a peek and breathed a sigh of relief. His arm had changed back into a Hobbit arm and hand with all five fingers.

It had been a lifelong fear of Bilbo’s—despite what his mother had told him almost a dozen times—that he would get stuck in some misshapen form. Belladonna had always shaken her head when he told of this fear and told them that as long as he didn’t fear the change there was no reason to worry. It had helped a bit to settle Bilbo’s fear, but not by much. He had still woken in the middle night, panicking as he’d checked himself over to make sure he was still a Hobbit.

“Don’t fear the change,” Bilbo muttered. “Right.” He unfolded his legs and scooted off the bed, moving his arms back and forth as he stretched. Changing always made him feel a bit stiff afterwards, like he’d exercised a bit too much the day before.

Voices grumbled behind the door and Bilbo paused, listening intently. He relaxed when no one knocked on the door or spoke up, requesting to enter the room. The guards at least respected that bit, Bilbo thought. He always had some sort of warning before a guard went opening the door and barging in, unlike some Dwarves he knew.

Despite their duties to keep him trapped in the room, Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to despise them. Every time one of the guards entered the room, they gave Bilbo curious looks, as if they expected to see something other than a Hobbit in the room. Bilbo exchanged the curious glances with one of his own, eyeing each guard individually. He only ever saw four guards, two in the morning and two in the evening. Bilbo figured there must be two shifts of a pair of guards, otherwise he would have seen more by now.

Bilbo clasped his hands behind his back and bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, eyeing the door before him. At least the guards kept to curious glances. None of them had ever said anything nasty at him or looked at with disgust. That was more than he’d ever received in the Shire.

The Hobbits had been more than happy to avoid talking to Bilbo at all. A few of them—Lobelia included—made their dislike of Skin-Changers well-known. Some of the Hobbits had been a bit more hospitable, chatting with Bilbo and bullying other Hobbits into selling their wares to him. Only they weren’t trying to be decent Hobbits to make themselves look respectable, Bilbo now realized. Those Hobbits had ties of some kind with the Skin-Changers, whether through marriage or friendship.

 Something hit the door with a hard thump and one of voice said something Khuzdul. The Dwarf must have cursed, because the foreign words sounded harsher than usual. Bilbo heard the other guard laugh until the one who’d fallen snapped something to him. They both fell silent and something rustled as the guard undoubtedly moved back into his original position.

What did those guards think of him? Bilbo wondered. In fact, what would the whole mountain think of him? Dis treated him like family, something he hadn’t felt since his mother had died and Hildifons had moved to Tuckborough. Her son—what was his name? Cili? Gili? Kili. Her son, Kili, had a child-like fascination with Bilbo. Unlike his mother, Kili had obviously grown up without Skin-Changers around him. He didn’t know what to expect from Bilbo and he’d been filled with so much energy, like he wanted to tell Bilbo everything he knew but at the same time he wanted to ask Bilbo a hundred questions.

Bilbo sank onto his bed. He came from a land where he was considered an outcast by over half the Shire. Now he was in a mountain where everyone seemed more interested in meeting him than judging him. Bilbo stared at his hands, the image of a bird entering his mind. He brushed it away quickly, before his limbs began to change form. He didn’t know what to do. He’d only been in the mountain a few days, but after meeting Kili and Dis, he didn’t know what to think of the Dwarves. He despised Thorin, Dwalin, and the other Dwarves who had helped to capture him, that much Bilbo knew. But what would all the other Dwarves of the mountain think of him? Bilbo tugged at the hem of his too-long sleeves. Would they think of him as an outsider, just as the Hobbits did?

On the other side of the door to Bilbo’s prison, the guards fell silent. Bilbo paused in tugging at his sleeve and leaned forward. What would make the guards suddenly stop talking? Normally, they spent most of the night muttering to each other in Khuzdul and Bilbo would listen to them until he fell asleep. The familiar grating noise filled the room and a moment later the door swung open, light flooding into the room, making Bilbo’s candle look meek in comparison. Bilbo held his breath, waiting for one of the guards to enter his room for some unknown reason, but neither of them did. Instead, Thorin stepped into the room. The door shut tightly behind him and Thorin looked around the room, his gaze lingering for a moment on the candle on Bilbo’s bedside table.

Bilbo remained silent, watching the Dwarven King warily. Their last meeting was still fresh in his mind and he wanted to avoid anything like that again. In fact, he’d rather avoid speaking with Thorin at all. Finally, Thorin turned his attention to Bilbo, who straightened up slightly and put on his best Baggins face. He wouldn’t let Thorin treat him the same way again.

Thorin paused, having noticed Bilbo’s change in position, but he made no comment about it. Instead, he settled down on the stool that had been left in the room from his last visit. Bilbo had no idea why the guard hadn’t taken it out yet. He may not be strong, but he could still lift the stool and smack one of them in the head with it, if he could even reach that high.

“Is your throat feeling better?” Thorin asked after a moment of awkward silence. “I spoke with Oin after your unfortunate meeting with my nephews. He told me it would be best to give you something to sooth it.”

Bilbo stared at Thorin, a little lost. Was the Dwarf rambling to him? Thorin didn’t seem the type of person to be uncomfortable in these situations. He would have expected the Dwarf to take charge and make more of his ridiculous demands. Bilbo noticed Thorin watching him expectantly, waiting for a reply. He cleared his throat, grimacing as the slight pain that still bothered him.

“It’s feeling a bit better,” Bilbo admitted and Thorin’s shoulders slumped in obvious relief. “But I don’t think I’ll be needing anymore tea for the rest of the night, he added hastily. Truthfully, the back of his throat now felt like it had been coated in honey from all the tea he’d been drinking recently.

Thorin nodded and leaned back against the wall. Lacing his fingers together, he let his hands dangle between his knees as he eyed Bilbo carefully. They both remained silent for a few tense minutes before, taking a deep breath, Thorin spoke up.

“I’d like to apologize for my treatment of you earlier,” Thorin said.

Bilbo sat up from where he’d been examining the hem of his shirt, his mouth falling open slightly. The Dwarf carried himself in such a way that Bilbo had never expected to hear an apology come from him. Especially an apology for his own actions.

“My sister spoke to me,” Thorin continued. “And she helped me to see the error of my ways.” He lifted his hands, examining them as he continued to speak. “I should never have bound you to the bed, nor should I have demanded that you bond with me. Bonds are meant to be formed naturally, not through persuasion or force.” He fell silent, still staring at his hands.

Bilbo had no idea of what to say. He had never expected to see such remorse on Thorin’s face before. Eyeing the Dwarf, he wondered if he should even dare to try. “Does this mean you’ll let me go home?” he asked softly.

Any hope Bilbo had of going home died when Thorin looked up at him, a sorrowful expression in his eyes. Bilbo slumped. The answer was still “no,” then. Even after his apology, Thorin still wouldn’t allow him to go home. Bilbo fiddled with the hem of his shirtsleeves.

“Bilbo, please.” Thorin made to rise from the stool and Bilbo froze, eyeing him warily. He settled back down onto the stool. “We have been searching the Shire for nearly ten years,” Thorin said softly. “Every year, the search parties return empty-handed. Every year my people lose hope that we will ever reclaim Erebor.”

Bilbo blinked back the burning sensation in his eyes. Reclaim Erebor. That seemed to be the only reason Thorin had for keeping him prisoner. He took a deep breath in. He was a Baggins and, no matter how hard a situation became, a Baggins did not lose their temper.

“I don’t want to stay here,” Bilbo said softly and Thorin opened his mouth, prepared to argue. Bilbo held up a hand, effectively silencing the Dwarf. “And you won’t let me leave.” Thorin closed his mouth and sat back, fixing Bilbo with a grave look. “I think it’s time we look at this from a different angle.”

“And what would be that angle?” Thorin asked. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His interest gave Bilbo a fleeting moment of hope that he didn’t dare lose.

“When I was young,” Bilbo began. “My mother used to make deals with me. She found it was the only way she could get me to listen to her.”

“Deals,” Thorin repeated, his brow furrowing. “What kind of deals?”

Bilbo racked his brain quickly, trying to remember a deal he’d made with his mother. “I could go visit my cousin in Tuckborough,” he said, finally recalling one from his early tween years. “But I had to eat anything she put on my plate.”

Despite the seriousness of their situation, Thorin grinned. “You didn’t like your vegetables, I take it?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I didn’t like my fruits. I ate a bad apple once and got sick. I refused to eat any fruit for years after that.”

Thorin nodded and sat back. “You wish for us to strike up a contract of sorts?”

Bilbo frowned, unsure of whether or not he liked the sound of a contract. “I suppose you could call it that. We could agree that if we don’t bond by,” Bilbo thought quickly, searching for a date that would work, “midsummer, you allow me to return home.”

“Midsummer?” Thorin repeated. “That’s hardly enough time for a bond to form!” He leaned forward, a steely and familiar look in his eyes. “Give us a year,” he said. “If we don’t bond within a year, I will allow you to return home.”

This time Bilbo became annoyed. “A bond is not going to take a year,” he said. “If we don’t bond within six months, I highly doubt we’d ever actually bond in a year.” Thorin’s eyes flashed and Bilbo was reminded of several moments in the Shire when he’d bartered for better prices with the merchants. “End of summer,” Bilbo said.

Thorin scowled. “Durin’s day.” Bilbo stared at him blankly. “The last day of autumn,” Thorin explained. “If we haven’t bonded by then, I will personally see you returned to your home.”

Bilbo frowned. The last day of autumn. That was still quite a way away and he didn’t know how many relatives had tried to stake a claim on Bag End by then. But judging from the look on Thorin’s face, it would also be the final choice Bilbo had. He had seen that very same look on several Hobbits’ faces before, and none of them had budged from the price they’d stated.

“Very well,” Bilbo said. “I will remain in the mountain until Durin’s Day.” He held a hand and Thorin rose from the stool, taking it in his own and shaking it gently. Bilbo drew his hand back as soon as Thorin released it.

“I’ll have a room prepared for you tomorrow,” Thorin said. He looked around himself. “For now I’m afraid you’re going to have to sleep in here one last night.”

Bilbo nodded tiredly. Thorin hesitated for a moment, as if waiting for Bilbo to say something, before he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind himself. Bilbo heard him speaking to the guards in Khuzdul. Bilbo laid down on his bed and stared up at the stone ceiling. Had he just managed to get himself into a bigger mess than he already was?

 

Nori glared into his ale, ignoring the raucous shouting and banging surrounding him. He’d chosen to hunker down in one of the dodgiest inns in the Underhalls, and if Dori could see him now, he’d have a fit. Nori snorted and took a swig of his ale. Not like all Dori did was have fits, but it seemed like that was all he did now: throw fits and sew. At the least the sewing bit helped Dori’s nerves. The fits only made it worse.

Someone bumped into Nori, causing his ale to slosh over the side and he shoved the Dwarf back, cursing at him in Khuzdul. The Dwarf responded in kind, adding a rude gesture in as well.

“And your mother too!” Nori shot back. The Dwarf snorted and turned back to his friends, bellowing with laughter at something one of them had said.

Nori turned back to his ale, shaking slightly. That could have gone very bad. The Dwarf could have easily lost his temper at Nori’s insult and drawn a weapon of some sort. Nori reached back to finger one of his knives carefully, eyeing the Dwarves around him. He recognized a few of them as fellow thieves and even one or two of them something akin to friends, but that didn’t mean he trusted them.

“Ah, Nori.” A Dwarf settled down in the chair across from Nori, his large bulk forcing him to push the chair back. Nori almost snorted but stopped himself. Duf was not someone you wanted to insult. You usually wound up dead shortly afterwards.

“Evening, Duf,” Nori mumbled, knocking the rest of his ale back. He set the empty mug down and belched.

Duf raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He simply lifted a hand, singling the inn-keeper for another mug of ale then sat back, shaking his head and _tsking_ gently.

“You don’t look well, Nori,” Duf said. “Not well at all.” He leaned forward as much as his large bulk would allow him to. “This wouldn’t happen to be about that little brother of yours, would it?”

Nori fisted his breeches, breathing deeply and glaring at Duf as the Dwarf settled back into his chair. He could not lose his temper with this Dwarf. If he did, he lost any chance of finding Ori. And right now, he needed every tiny chance he got.

“Have you heard anything?” Nori asked through gritted teeth. The inn-keeper placed a fresh mug of ale in front of Nori and took the empty mug, eyeing the two Dwarves warily before he headed back to the counter.

Duf sighed sadly, shaking his head. “Nothing at all,” he said. “Our precious King saw fit to close half the gates to the Market Hall. The rest of the gates are heavily guarded. Do you have any idea how hard it is to send my Dwarves in there now?” He gave Nori a mournful look. “I truly am sorry, Nori, but I’m afraid your brother is gone for good.”

Nori’s hands shook and he tightened his grip on his breeches. He needed to stay calm. “You’re sure?” he said. “There’s no other way around?”

Duf sighed, this time out of the annoyance of having been questioned. “I’m quite sure,” he said. “There’s no way to reach any of my informants. Your brother is gone, Nori. It’s best to simply move on and forget about him. Beardlings like—what was his name—Ari simply get in the way. Now that he’s gone, you’ll have more time to focus on your task at hand. Such as paying me back.” Duf raised an eyebrow. “I trust you haven’t forgotten that.

Nori lost whatever composure he’d managed to keep. Shooting out of his chair, he slammed a fist down on the table. “Listen here, you overgrown pile of lard,” Nori snarled. “My brother got snatched up by some filthy slave-trading bastards, and if you don’t tell me what you know, I’ll make sure you never walk again. And his name is Ori, understand?”

Nori’s whole body shook and he leaned against the table for support, glaring at Duf. The Dwarf had been watching him with a slightly amused expression. Now he looked downright dangerous. Slowly, Nori began to realize what he’d just done. The blood drained from his face and he nearly cursed out loud.

“You’re wise to look like that right now,” Duf said softly. He leaned forward, his large belly pressing up against the edge of the table. He fisted Nori’s tunic in thick fingers, jerking the Dwarf forward until his face was inch from Duf’s. Nori nearly gagged at the foul breath directed into his face. “When I’m through with you, you’ll wish you were dead,” Duf said.

A few of the Dwarves around them had stood up, drawing their weapons and fingering them. They eyed Nori menacingly. Nori grabbed Duf’s wrist in a weak grip and did his best to ignore the stench he inhaled with every breath.

“Duf,” Nori said. “Please. Don’t do this. My brother needs me.”

“Your brother,” Duf sneered. “You won’t be so worried about him soon enough. When we finish with you, we’ll drop you off at your brother’s house. Oh, he’ll have his hands full, I’m sure. Caring for you and searching for that little mouse. He’ll . . ..” Duf’s words petered off and Nori suddenly found himself released. He barely stopped himself from falling face-first into the table. Straightening up, he stared at Duf. The Dwarf’s face—which had been beet red just a second ago—had lost all color. Duf backed away quickly, muttering soft words under his breath as he turned and waddled away quickly.

Nori turned around slowly to see what had frightened Duf so badly, and he felt the blood drain from his own face. A Dwarf dressed in impeccable deep red robes with gold plates braided intricately into his beard stood in the doorway. Loni. The only Dwarf you never wanted to meet in person.

Loni looked around himself, disgust clearly written on his face. He turned to the inn-keeper, who stood stock-still behind the counter. “The best wine, if you have it,” the Dwarf Lord said. “If not, then get out of my sights.”

The inn-keeper scrambled to give a hasty bow before he backed out, shutting the door behind himself tightly. Loni snorted and turned to survey the now empty room. Well, empty except for one Dwarf. Nori glanced at the nearest exit and cursed under his breath. A heavily armed Dwarf stood in the doorway, blocking any chance for an easy escape. He could fight his way out, Nori reasoned. But he’d heard stories of what happened to Dwarves who displeased Loni. Suffering under Duf was paradise compared to Loni.

“You must be Nori,” Loni said. He made his way between the tables, grimacing as he shifted chairs out of the way. A Dwarf in light armor followed Loni, pulling a chair out for him when he reached Nori’s table. Loni settled down into the chair and gestured for Nori to do the same. “Sit,” Loni insisted.

Nori sank down into his chair slowly, eyeing the guard standing next to Loni. He had a feeling this night was going to end a lot worse than he had expected earlier.

“You don’t have to look so frightened,” Loni said. “I’m not here to threaten you. Rather the opposite, in fact.” He noticed Nori’s untouched ale and he nodded to it. “Drink,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

Nori licked his suddenly dry lips and wiped his hands on his breeches. “I’d rather not.” His voice came out as a croak. “My lord.”

“Did you hear that?” Loni asked the guard next to him. “He called me ‘My Lord.’ That’s more respect than I get from anyone else.” He settled back into his chair. “I’m here to discuss a certain business proposition,” Loni said.

If it could have, Nori’s face would have gone even paler. A business proposition with Loni sounded about as dangerous as walking into a pack of Orcs with only a stick. He moved his hands to his lap to hide the shaking, then quickly placed them back onto the table when the guard glared at him.

“You see,” Loni began. “I know where your brother is.”

Nori’s heart nearly stopped. He had never thought to hear those words. He had been searching for weeks without getting a single hint of Ori, and the most dangerous Dwarf in the mountain sat in front of him, claiming to know where Ori was.

“I assure you that your brother is safe,” Loni said. “And he can remain that way. In fact, I can see him safely back into your hands.”

Nori swallowed thickly. The words he said next tasted like bile. “What do I need to do?” he asked.

Loni smiled. “It’s about a certain Skin-Changer,” he said. “One that happens to be living with the King at the moment.”

Nori nodded quickly. “I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll do anything.” Anything to get his brother back.

Loni’s smile grew. “Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All translations come from the Neo-Khuzdul dictionary. It's a little rough, but I managed to form sentences that make sense. Mostly. Not that Dwarves would actually understand a single word I would be saying.
> 
> Anyhoo, the plot thickens! Again! I think it's like the size of a seven layer cake by now. I don't know if I can keep track of all these plot twists. I really should have written them down somewhere. But I'm foolish like that. I like to leave everything in my head. 
> 
> Unfortunately, I don't have a quiz question for you today. But if you'd like me to keep posting questions, leave a message! Other than that, I'll bid you all a good night and get started on the homework I should have started earlier today.
> 
> As usual, you write comments, I write chapters, yes? :D


	20. The Note of the Author

This is just a quick note for all of you, my lovely readers. I rewrote the first scene of the last chapter. As cute as it was, I felt that the initial scene didn't match up with the rest of the story. I believe the one I just posted will fit much better and be a bit easier to work with. I might be able to write a real chapter today. I think I'm going to give a try. If not, I hope to post on Wednesday.

 

Happy reading,

 

Castor


	21. Update

Hello there!

 

I just wanted to give you an update on what's been going on in my life and what's planned ahead.

 

-I graduated from college on the 13th (yay!) so I won't be able to use school as an excuse anymore. This last semester was pretty much filled with a lot of homework and I had started working nights during the weeks. My life had gotten pretty hectic and I wasn't able to write as much as I would have liked.

-I still work in retail at the moment, which means my schedule is pretty irregular, but I plan to update when I can. Unfortunately, I work full, eight-and-a-half hour shifts today and tomorrow, which means it's pretty unlikely I'll get to write anything for the next couple days.

 

And the important update:

 

-I am thinking of rewriting this story. I plan to take all of your comments into consideration when I do, and aim for a more "courting" style relationship between Bilbo and Thorin.

 

I want to thank all of you for your patience with this story. I know what it feels like when a story you enjoy suddenly stops, and I never want to be that writer. I look forward to writing as soon as I can and I hope you all have a wonderful summer.

 

See you in a bit!

 

Castor 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel horrible that I promised a rewrite and now I haven't gotten as much writing done as I would have liked to. I wanted to release the first couple chapters together, but I also don't want to leave you guys waiting around forever. I've got most of chapter two written, if you want me to post the first half tonight after work, the second half just needs a little rework. I work until 10 (Central time), so I'm afraid I won't have much time to write for the rest of the day. Let me know what you guys think, and I will try to get chapters 2 and 3 finished as soon as I can.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Castor

Bilbo

Bilbo turned the strawberry this way and that, examining its color. It looked ripe enough. At least, it had more color than the rest of the berries on the plant. He gave the strawberry an experimental tug and it fell off the plant and into his palm without a fight. He turned around, holding out his hand to show the strawberry to his young audience.

“See?” he said. “It fell off, just like I told you.”

Ruby gasped, leaning forward to look more closely at the small fruit. “It’s so pretty!” She looked up at Bilbo with wide eyes. “Are there more?”

“Of course.” Bilbo took her hand and turned it over, placing the small strawberry in the palm of her hand. Ruby stared down at the small berry before carefully depositing it in her basket. “You better hurry now,” Bilbo said, and Ruby looked up at him with a questioning look. “Before the birds get to them.” Bilbo held up his pointer and middle finger and thumb, mimicking a bird opening and closing his beak. “They love strawberries.”

Ruby’s mouth formed a small “o” and she turned around, rushing off to join with her cousins and friends. She knelt next to them, pushing the leaves aside to try and find more of the reclusive strawberries.

Bilbo stood up, brushing the dirt from the knees of his britches. All around him, fauntlings and tweens alike sorted through numerous strawberry plants. The plants’ vines crept up the roots and trunks of the towering trees that shaded the small group. He leaned back and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of strawberries crushed underfoot and rich, unturned soil.

He loved coming to the Woody End every spring. Seeing the looks on his young cousins’ faces when they saw the endless strawberry plants was enough for him. Bilbo could remember when he used to come here with his mother as a fauntling. Granted, he was a bit more out of control and spent more time racing through the underbrush than actually picking strawberries. Still, the adult hobbits had laughed and the other fauntlings had chased him, shrieking with glee.

“Hey, Mr. Bilbo!” Adelard poked his head out from behind a fallen poplar tree. Somehow, the young hobbit had managed to squeeze between its branches to get to the plants beneath it. Bilbo had half a mind to give Adelard an earful and tell him to come out from under the poplar. “I bet this would go a lot faster if you were a bird.”

At the foot of the fallen poplar, Olive froze, her fingers hovering over a strawberry. She looked back at Adelard with wide eyes. Several of the other members of the picking had also stopped, the tweens standing with their mouths hanging open while the fauntlings had turned to Bilbo, excitement in their eyes.

“Please, Mr. Bilbo?” Ruby asked, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’ve never seen you as a bird before.”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo looked around, suddenly finding himself the center of attention, “I’m not so sure—”

“—that it’s appropriate,” Menegilda cut in from behind Bilbo. Several fauntlings ducked their heads and the tweens turned back to the strawberries quickly. Bilbo glanced over his shoulder at Menegilda, who stood with Saradoc held tightly in one arm and a fist planted on her hip. “Adelard Took,” she said. “What has your father told you?”

Adelard looked down at the ground, kicking the dirt. “That it’s not polite to ask changelings to do something for you just because it seems easier,” he recited. “And that I can learn from my own hard work.”

Menegilda nodded. “And remember that the next time you want to ask a changeling to do something for you. They’re hobbits, just like you, not tools.”

Adelard’s face flushed and he turned around, disappearing under the poplar tree’s branches.

Menegilda’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry about that, Bilbo. It seems like that boy doesn’t listen to a word his father says.”

Bilbo attempted a small smile. One never wanted to try and test Menegilda when she became cross. “It’s quite all right, Minnie. He’s still learning, and he’s right. It would be faster if I was a bird.”

“I know,” Menegilda said. “But—” Saradoc chortled in her arms, reaching to grab a small handful of his mother’s hair and wave his fist around. Menegilda winced and caught Saradoc’s hand, trying to free her hair from his grip.

“Here.” Bilbo stepped forward and took Saradoc’s hand when the infant refused to relinquish his mother’s hair. Reaching forward, Bilbo tickled Saradoc’s stomach and the baby paused for a moment before he began shrieking with laughter. He released his prize and reached out to grasp Bilbo’s thumb in his hand. Bilbo grinned down at Saradoc and tickled him under the chin, earning himself another chortle.

Menegilda breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Bilbo. It seems like he’s always trying to grab my hair or something else he shouldn’t have.”

Bilbo stopped tickling and drew his hand away, standing up properly. “Has he changed at all?” he asked.

Menegilda shook her hand. “Not once, thank the Valar.” Her eyes widened and she lifted a free hand to her mouth. “Oh, Bilbo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Bilbo chuckled. “It’s quite all right, Minnie. I’m sure you didn’t mean anything by it.”

Menegilda drew her hand away. “It’s just that,” her shoulders slumped, “every time I see a mother chasing a puppy or a baby sheep, all I can think is of how thankful I am Saradoc isn’t like his father. Is that cruel of me, Bilbo?” She looked up at Bilbo, desperation in her eyes. “I know how badly Rory wants to teach his little ones how to change and behave properly, but I just can’t help but hope we have fauntlings and not changelings.”

“Minnie.” Bilbo rested his free hand on Menegilda’s shoulder. “I think I can name a few lasses out there who wish they were in your shoes.” He glanced down at both of their bare feet. “So to speak.”

Menegilda gave him a weak smile. “Thank you, Bilbo. And thank you for coming out here. I know you had other things to do.”

“Not at all.” Bilbo waved a hand. “I’m more than happy to come help with strawberry picking. Who knows?” He tugged on his finger. “Maybe the next time we come out here, you’ll bring a puppy with you.”

Menegilda’s eyes widened. “Oh, please, no. I’d never find him again.”

Bilbo laughed, finally working his thumb free of Saradoc’s grip. The infant shrieked and reached out, grabbing with his small hand in demand. Menegilda struggled to keep a grip on her son as Saradoc nearly fell out of her arms.

“It’s not time for you to go yet, is it?” Ruby tugged on Bilbo sleeve, gazing up at him solemnly. The handle over her basket rested in the crook of her arm and she had managed to fill it with a few strawberries. The red juices around her mouth gave tell just exactly what had happened to the rest of the strawberries.

Bilbo crouched down so as to be level with the fauntling. “I’m afraid so.” He tucked a stray curl behind Ruby’s ear. “I have some things to do at my own house today.”

Ruby’s lower lip jutted out and she lowered her head. “But I don’t want you to go.”

“He said he has some things to do,” Menegilda said in a kind tone. “Now, why don’t we find more strawberries to pick?” She took Ruby’s hand and led her away.

Ruby glanced over her shoulder at Bilbo, her eyes filling with tears.

Bilbo stood from his crouch, and cupped his hands around his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he gave a long series of whistles that echoed through the forest. All of the strawberry pickers stopped, straightening up to look around themselves. The birds of the forest had fallen silent. A rush of wings filled the air and a thrush landed on a bush next to Menegilda and Ruby, a single strawberry in its beak.

Ruby held out her hand, her mouth splitting into a wide grin when the thrush dropped the berry into her open palm.

Bilbo leaned down to pluck a ripe strawberry from a plant. He turned away, heading for the path a little way away from the group. The thrush followed, flitting in circle over his head until Bilbo threw the strawberry into the air. The bird caught the berry easily and took off, disappearing into the trees.

Beady eyes watched from the trees and bushes.

“Just a little longer,” Bilbo told them. “Then you can have your fill.” The birds ruffled their feathers and a series of cheeps and croaks filled the air. “I promise.” They settled back onto their branches, eyeing Bilbo as he headed out of the Woody End.

 

Bilbo loved the Green Hill Country. He had fond memories of visiting the endless hills as a fauntling. He and his mother—and sometimes Uncle Hildifons—would leave Tuckborough early to get to the Green Hill Country just as sun the rose. Belladonna had a hard time keeping a hold of Bilbo as he tried to wrestle out of his shirt and britches and change at the same time. Most of the time, she lost her grip on him just as he’d finished and he would dash away as fast as he could before poking his head around a hill, waiting for his mother and uncle to join him.

Bilbo stopped and took a deep breath in. He caught the scent of the flowers that were still in bloom, dotting the hillsides all around him. Yes, he loved this area. It was untamed, untouched by hobbits, and left to the devices of curious changelings who wanted nothing more than to play under the watchful eyes of their guardians. Bilbo tilted his head back, watching the clouds that drifted by. He could stand here all day, watching the clouds and smelling the flowers.

Beneath his feet, the ground began to creak. Bilbo looked down. “What on earth?” He stepped back a pace and the creaking increased, the earth sagging beneath Bilbo’s feet. He frowned. That shouldn’t be happening. Never in all his life had he even seen any part of the Shire begin sinking beneath his feet, and he’d visited plenty of areas.

The ground sank a bit more. He should probably get off of it, Bilbo realized, before it sank beneath his feet and he found himself trapped in some underground cavern. He turned on his heel and stepped towards what looked to be the sturdiest piece of ground nearby. The creaking stopped and he breathed a sigh of relief before something snapped beneath him, and he found himself tumbling into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be posting a separate story for this eventually. I'm still coming up with a new title and I thought you guys deserved something to read after waiting for so long.


	23. *IMPORTANT UPDATE*

I officially have a rewrite posted. It is titled "The Skin-Changer's Quest". I've posted a link below for you to follow. Thank you for your patience with me! This last year of school has been a rough one and I haven't been able to do what I like throughout it.

 

<http://archiveofourown.org/works/10991355/chapters/24480012>

**Author's Note:**

> And now the story begins!  
> A quick side-note for all my readers: I am the kind of author who likes to let readers discover things on their own. If anything ever seems vague to you, feel free to ask! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and will tell me what you think. Imagination runs on the feedback of others! (What the heck does that mean, Pollux?)


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